Warden Series: Before the Legends
by Saori Runa Dempsey
Summary: AU. The last time Elena saw her, she'd fried Fergus' eyebrows, only to be taken away to the Circle. There's nothing like civil war, treachery, & Blights to bring two friends back together after 10 years. An assortment of companions just add to the fun. ON HOLD - Currently undergoing revision and eventual re-post.
1. Duncan and the Couslands of Highever

**I am ADDICTED to Dragon Age. After playing through it a few times, this story developed, and I look forward to seeing where the muses take me with it. Obviously, this deviates from the game storyline somewhat, though the general idea is the same. Eventually this will be a **_Cousland/Alistair, Zevran/Surana/Anders, and Mahariel/Tamlen_**.**

**I ask that you REVIEW if you read this story, mostly because getting feedback makes me inspired and keeps the muses chattering in my ear. Authors like to know their labors of love are appreciated, after all, and reviews are the BEST way to do it, even if they're only three words long.**

**Disclaimer: **_I own nothing except my OC's._

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Chapter One**

_Duncan and the Couslands of Highever_

* * *

"Milady." When no response was given, a hard shake jostled her shoulder impatiently. "Milady, please. Lord Bryce has requested your appearance in the main hall."

Elena Cousland groaned, louder then before, and attempted to yank her covers over her head more to block out Udia's insistent pestering. The elf woman was a long time servant of her family's and, as such, had little if any qualms with kicking them out of bed in the mornings if necessary.

Quite literally, as was the case this particular morning.

"Udia…" In a tangled mess of sheets on the cold stone floor of her room in nothing but her smallclothes, Elena glowered up at the elf who was wholly unrepentant and already remaking her bed for her. "You know I could have you flogged for that, right?"

"Ah, but you won't." She didn't even pause and, in fact, took the sheet away from her with a quick yank so she stood with nothing but her underclothes to cover her from the morning chill in the air. "Quickly now. Celia has drawn a warm bath for you and Vyse is fetching your armor for you. You've a busy day, milady!"

"It's Elena, Udia!" The shouted reminder was pointless; the fair haired elf woman absolutely _refused_ to call her anything else but 'milady'.

True to her word, a warm bath was waiting for her in the bathing chambers, the water smelling vaguely floral thanks to the bath oils Celia liked so much. The young elf girl looked very much like her mother, both fair haired and light eyed with that elven blue color that no human ever had, though she held herself with all the pride of her Dalish father.

"Mornin' Elena." The young girl beamed, much more at ease with the informal greeting then her mother had ever been. "Picked the Brecillian Rose extract today; Lady Landra arrived early with her son, Lord Dairren, and that lady in waiting of hers, Iona."

Elena laughed as she shed her clothes and sank blissfully into the warm water. Brecillian Rose was a seductive scent, meant to distract men (and women, sometimes) more then anything. Celia had nearly a hundred different extracts and always had a bit of humor when deciding which to apply to her bath water.

The steaming water soothed aching muscles that were still complaining at her from yesterday's sparring session with Fergus. With her elder brother going off to fight darkspawn in the south at Ostagar today, she'd had to give him a proper goodbye last night…which was essentially a good thrashing and several threats of violence to his person, should he have the fool notion to get himself killed down there. Her sister-in-law, Elena knew, had already considered slipping just enough poison into his food so that he would not have to leave. No one knew poison like Antivan women, after all, and Oriana was certainly one of the best Elena had ever seen.

She'd never forget that food poisoning fiasco at their celebratory wedding dinner for as long as she lived. It had certainly taught Fergus a lesson about embarrassing her in public. The lavatories had smelled for _weeks_ afterwards though…

Celia whistled a random tune, as was her habit, as she helped her wash and rinse her hair. They were elven tunes Elena was well familiar with; Damyan, Udia's husband, frequently whistled them too whenever she saw him walking the keep's grounds. He was a proud man, fiercely protective of his heritage like all Dalish elves were, and had gotten into more then one argument with Mother Mallol over the years. Her parents generally turned a blind eye to his beliefs and were even somewhat intrigued by elven heritage, so long as he hid it in front of Mallol. Arguing with anyone of the Chantry, her father had once sighed, was like arguing with a brick wall.

Elena knew this only too well.

"Better get a move on," Vyse huffed as the eight year old bounded inside with his small arms clutching her leather armor. "Sounds like Arl Howe is here today and the Teyrn is waiting to introduce you to someone, Elena."

She groaned audibly. If it was another matchmaking scheme setup by her mother…

The smug little elf boy must've known what she was thinking and shook his head. "He looked a bit too old to be one of them dandies the Teyrna's been having stop by for you these past weeks." With his mother's light hair but his father's pale grey eyes, Vyse reminded her way too much of his sister.

Well, the sister neither he nor Celia knew, anyway.

Shaking her head, Elena told him, "Run unless you want to be flashed, kid." Vyse dropped her clothes and bolted with a boyish shriek, making Celia laugh. Even she had to chuckle. "One day he's not going to actually run when a girl says that to him."

"If he stops thinking long enough for puberty to set in…maybe." Celia clicked her tongue absently and shook her head. "Maybe by then his body will grow into those feet of his. Anyway; let's get you dressed now, hmm? Best not keep the Teyrn waiting."

* * *

Bryce Cousland, Teyrn of Highever and her glorified father, had the patience of a saint. He had to, considering ten minutes in the same room with Arl Rendon Howe and Elena generally wanted to murder something. The presence of the Grey Warden, Duncan, had lessened the effect to some degree, but to no avail…her fingers itched to do something violent. More then once, the arl had tried to get her interested in his son, Thomas. He was three years her senior and, from what she could see, was shaping up to be a second coming of his father. Thankfully, her father took the idea of a match being made between them as seriously as she did. The younger one, maybe, but he'd gone off to be squired in the Free Marches before the arl had really started hinting at the idea. Even her mother, desperately wishing for more grandchildren as she did, never actually considered Thomas Howe as an actual candidate. How much of that being her distaste at the idea of being related to the arl, Elena had no clue.

One thing was clear, though; if Elena disliked the man, Eleanor Cousland downright _hated_ him. Too ruthless, too ambitious, she'd confided once. As a general rule, her mother didn't like leaving the arl alone with her father at all either. Something in his gaze as he watched her father sometimes was just…

"Blowhard." Turning around, Elena smiled when she saw it was just Damyan. Obviously, the man had just seen the arl too.

The snarl on his lips eased away slightly as he noticed her. "Aneth ara, da'len." The tension in his shoulders eased somewhat, though she noticed it didn't go away completely. Howe had that effect on people, sadly. Eyeing her Mabari hound that was standing vigilantly at her side, his eyes crinkled at the corners. "Lethallin."

Lethallin barked, once, and wagged his stub of a tail happily.

"So the kitchens are safe once more," he sighed. "I swear Nan's voice could pierce straight into the Fade itself when she's in a mood."

"You look tired, Damyan." His grey-speckled dark hair that was tied back into a ponytail let her see clearly his pale grey eyes. They'd sparkled once with fierce pride and still did, to an extent, but they'd lost a lot of their luster after…well…the _'Incident'_. No one ever spoke of it, and it seemed easier for Udia to just pretend she'd never existed, but Damyan had been _fiercely_ proud of his first daughter and had never quite recovered from having her ripped away from him. One day he'd sent his first child out to play with her and Fergus, only to never see her again come sundown.

"I am…growing old, I suppose." He smiled faintly. "Don't worry about me, da'len. Aging has made me nostalgic of late. Dareth shiral."

Elena watched him until he rounded a corner and disappeared from her line of sight, sighing. The templars may as well have killed him that day, for all the good it did him.

She stopped briefly to greet Lady Landra (who could forget that swaying dance on the tables at her mother's annual spring salon?) and her son Dairren. Landra's lady in waiting, Iona, reminded her sorely of Azalia. They'd been friends and, had things turned out different, she would've been her lady in waiting when the time came. Elena had never had the heart to choose someone else to take the spot she'd always figured her friend would one day occupy.

_Funny that I should think of her today,_ Elena thought with a sigh as she slid into bed that night, Lethallin curled up dutifully at the foot of it. She'd bid Fergus farewell one more time (and reminded him of how nice and warm she'd be while he froze his ass off down south) before heading off to bed as her father had suggested. The news of the delay of Arl Howe's men left her troubled even more then the lack of manpower she would have available to protect Highever. It wasn't many at all for such a large area.

Hopefully nothing too terrible would happen.

* * *

Barking.

Elena awoke with Lethallin's first snarling bark, blinking wearily as she sat up in nothing but her under things. Even when she tried to quiet him, he continued, and she narrowed her eyes at the door as she stood up and got dressed. Her Mabari always stood down when she told him to unless…

She was still buckling the last buckle on her boots when her bedroom door opened with a crash, the servant who'd done so coughing on his blood as he was sliced down by a soldier, screaming. In a flurry of movement, Lethallin lunged, taking down an archer just as he managed to get a shot off, the arrow glancing off the shoulder padding of her armor. As he went down, Elena caught sight of the crest on the shield hanging on his back.

_That's the Howe Family crest! Why…?_ Shaking her head, she shoved it aside for later. Like when all these _Howe_ _soldiers_ were dead or dying and bleeding bright red blood on her home's floor.

Withdrawing both of her blades, Elena charged and disappeared several feet in front of her first target, using stealth to get behind him and deliver a fatal stab to the back of his neck so deep the blade protruded out on the other side. She whirled, the dagger ripping through the flesh and out with her movement just as another soldier brought a waraxe down upon her. She blocked it with the long sword; it left her hand with the dagger free so she could bring it up and slit open his entire throat, blood spraying momentarily before he crumpled with a wide-eyed look of surprise.

Uncharitably, Elena spat on him and glanced around to see Lethallin overwhelming the last of her assailants. Her hound _did_ favor going for the throat. Huh. Made quite the mess, but she wasn't about to complain about a little blood.

"Darling, are you alright?" Her mother busted through the hall door and Elena barely managed not to throw her dagger at her in her paranoia.

"Not really any worse then I might be in a scrape with Fergus." Now _their_ spars were absolutely brutal. To her brother – and father's, secretely – way of thinking, it would keep Elena far safer then if they went easy on her and never pushed her to get better. Pain was a great motivator – at least for her. Fergus had never landed a hit on her since she'd turned sixteen and she was eighteen now.

Eleanor managed a wry smile, though she checked her over anyway even after Lethallin licked her armor clean of the blood. "I heard fighting and rushed right over here – these are Howe's men!"

"He's betrayed us!" she snarled furiously. Elena didn't bother sheathing her weapons – they'd need them soon enough, anyway.

"That traitorous _bastard_." Fury sparked in her mother's eyes, and in that moment Elena could see the battle maiden Eleanor had always claimed she could be. "I'll sever his treacherous head myself!"

"Vicious, mother," she murmured, grinning.

Her smile was decidedly nasty. Maybe she hadn't gotten all of her personality from her father after all. "I'm still a highly capable rogue, my darling. I'm hardly the wilting flower that bastard thinks all women are. Now come; we must find your father!"

Between her, her mother, and Lethallin, they made easy work of Howe's men. To be honest, most of the men were felled by a well placed arrow through the head or neck then any injury she inflicted. And Elena was _sure_ that kick to the one fallen soldier's gonads was purposeful. With only a brief detour to her family's treasury so she could retrieve some of her family's treasured armaments, they finally arrived at the main hall where her mother had said her father had been last.

They broke through the doors and immediately jumped into the middle of the fight between their soldiers and Howes. With the extra manpower, they easily defeated Howe's soldiers, and Elena watched with morbid fascination as her blade severed the head of the sole mage among Howe's troops. Where did it even fly off to?

"Thank the Maker!" Ser Gilmore breathed – his armor was soaked with blood both fresh and not. "I thought Howe's men got through."

"They _did_." Looking around, anxiety gripped at her when she saw no sign of her father.

"Where's Bryce?" Eleanor demanded.

Ser Gilmore bent his head shamefully. "I saw the Teyrn with that Grey Warden fellow a short while ago – badly injured, he was. Told him to have it seen to, but he was adamant about finding you both and made his way to the servant's exit in the larder. I believe he thought to find you there."

"Thank you, Ser Gilmore." She grabbed his arm, squeezing it once. He was a good man; she really hoped he survived, but the odds of that were rapidly dwindling.

He seemed to know that too and her heart constricted slightly at the expression of resignation on his face. "Maker watch over you, milady."

"Maker watch over us all." With that, she turned away and ran as the remnants of her father's men barricaded the doors.

Her father _was_ in the larder. She'd known it would be bad, but…

"Father!"

"Bryce!"

"There…my girls are." He grinned slightly, even covered in his own blood and obviously wounded as he was. "I'm glad…you're alright."

_No._ Elena felt numb, taking in the injuries with a despaired keening noise she hadn't realized she'd let loose. Udia had taught her how to assess injuries, as had her brother when he could, and that knowledge now came back to haunt her as she took the damage to her father's person in. _Fatal,_ her brain told her even as her heart bled in despair and grief. It pooled behind her eyes, and she didn't even realize it until her father brought up his free hand to caress her face and wipe them away with his thumb.

"Do not cry, my little mabari." _So he says as he cries too, _she thought with a slight laugh_._ He hadn't used that moniker for her in a long time. "I've had a good life."

"Howe betrayed us, papa." Mentally, Elena cursed her voice as it cracked and her throat constricted. _No, no, no, he can't die. He CAN'T!_

_But he is,_ her brain whispered quietly; rationally.

"Yes." He coughed, spitting blood, and her mother came closer and laid a soothing hand to his shoulder. "You must…_live_, my darling girl. You must seek _vengeance_ upon him for all he has done this night." Looking up, he tensed as he heard footsteps coming, only to relax somewhat. "Ah, Duncan. Thank you."

"Do not thank me." The Grey Warden she'd met earlier shook his head as he stared at her father sadly. "It seems woefully undeserved given the circumstances."

"Take…them away. They must _live."_ He coughed again; harder, this time. "They must survive and avenge this treachery."

"Yes…but I must have you understand. Things are bad enough that I can not leave without a recruit, my friend." Duncan shared a rather pointed look with him, and her father glanced her way briefly before nodding.

"I…understand. So long as she lives to take vengeance on Howe, I will allow it."

"What?" Elena wanted to hit him, but the increasing paleness in his pallor prevented her from doing so. "Didn't you say you wouldn't gladly see both Fergus and I off to fight not a few hours ago?"

"Situation…has changed." He smiled ruefully. "Must live, my darling girl. Tell Fergus…" He grimaced as pain hit him, tears welling in his eyes before he could speak again. "Join the Wardens."

She wanted to fight; to protest, but rationally she understood. Fergus _had_ to know. Oriana, Oren…_father_. He would never know if none of them survived this night.

Reluctantly, she agreed. "I will, papa." She leaned down and hugged him, as tightly as she could with his injuries, and sobbed once when he turned his head and kissed her cheek. Even under all the blood, he still smelled of wood smoke and Antivan brandy. Both smells had always been a comfort to her; now she doubted she would ever smell them again without thinking of him.

"You must go," her mother said forcefully. "I will stay. You will be faster with just the two of you."

"Eleanor." Even as hurt as he was, Bryce still began protesting.

Of course, mother silenced him with just a look. "Hush Bryce. I'll kill every bastard that comes through that door to buy them time, but I won't abandon you."

"Mother…!" The shattering of the barricade and yelling reached her ears, Duncan hand insistent as he grasped her arm and tugged a little.

"Go, my darling." Her mother ran over to hug her once last time, kissing her other cheek once before shoving her towards Duncan. "I will not leave your father. My place has always been with him." Even Lethallin whined from his silent vigil between her and her parents, only to get a watery smile from her mother. "You too, you troublesome hound. Go. Protect my baby girl."

Lethallin barked once, an affirmative, though with less enthusiasm then was normal.

Elena took in her parents, her heart in her throat, a final time before she stumbled after Duncan. Her last image was of her mother notching an arrow into her bow and of her father bleeding out, his voice whispering in a tone that would haunt her ears for several years to come.

"_I'm so sorry, my love…"_

**

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A/N: **_Sigh. I LIKED the Teyrn and Teyrna. Made me sad to see them die the way they did. I'm even unashamed to admit their end scenes always bring tears to my eyes. I was half tempted to tweak it to make them live, but that would make no sense. In some ways, my muse Elena Cousland needed their deaths as a motivator to keep her going. Ah, but her adventures have only begun._

_Obviously, I've tweaked the scenes of the game to my desire. Artistic licenses are lovely in indulging me that way. I have a bad memory with lines, so most from the game aren't word for word, but I try._

_**

* * *

Dalish Terminology**_

**Aneth Ara: **_Greeting typically used between Dalish_

**Da'len: **_Child_

**Lethallin: **_Male form of 'friend' in Dalish. I thought it was cute if that was Elena's hound's name._

**Dareth Shiral: **_Goodbye or Farewell_


	2. The Princess Locked Inside the Tower

**Chapter Two**

_The Princess Locked in the Tower_

* * *

She'd always thought of herself as being…rational.

Admittedly, bearing a grudge against Duncan was _not_ rational at all. He'd done nothing to warrant it and had gone out of his way for her family when he hadn't had to. The pain of losing her parents was a heavy blow, however, and Elena couldn't help feeling…well…angry at him. Every time she looked at the man, she felt an incomprehensible rage swell up and boil just under her skin. It would do her no good, however, seeing as she would be traveling with him at least for another two weeks before finally reaching Ostagar where she would be formally inducted into the Grey Wardens. On their way back, he planned on stopping by the Circle of Magi to deal with some business and scout out another recruit. He also wanted to check some ruins on the Southwestern edge of the Brecillian Forest, from what she could make out of his mutterings. Something about there being a tainted feel, whatever that meant.

_The Circle…_ It hit her, then, like a load of bricks. Azalia would be at the circle. Joy swelled for a moment, only to drop and shatter at her feet seconds later. Oh, god, what could she tell her? They hadn't spoken for ten years now…since she'd been dragged off that day. Elena had tried sending letters for a bit, but her father had always sadly shaken his head when they inevitably got sent right back, unopened. Eventually, she'd stopped altogether, and she'd watched Damyan's eyes fade a bit more when even he'd given up.

Had Damyan made it out? Had Celia and Vyse? Elena tried to remember if she'd seen their faces amongst the countless bodies that night but drew up nothing. So much blood had been spilled…all for that bastard Howe's greedy ambitions. Oh, she would make him pay…

"I understand you have an acquaintance here at Kinloch Hold?" It was the first words Duncan had spoken to her since escaping Highever. As they came upon Lake Calenhad, the great tower looming rather…eerily in the distance, Elena nodded once. "Perhaps you may want to seek her out; did she have family?"

"I was thinking along the same lines," she admitted. "Her father acted as a valet of sorts for my father and was very dear to us. She…has a brother and sister she does not even know about. They were born after she was taken to the Circle. I…don't know what I can tell her." The wound still felt too fresh; it tore at the fragile tear in her heart that had only just begun to mend itself.

The boat ride across to the tower gave her a little time to think, though Lethallin gave her pitiful whines when she told him he had to stay with the ferrymen, Kester, until they returned. Elena wondered briefly if Azalia would even relish seeing her. She could only hope the years had been kind to her friend; while she dreaded seeing her after all these years, a part of her needed to see Azalia was alive and well.

Kinloch Hold was even creepier up close then it had been far away. It reminded her of that old ruined castle she'd seen once; it had been destroyed during the occupation at some point and her father had never seen a point to rebuilding it when the money could always do so much more being put into something else. She'd been eight years old, depressed about yet another returned letter (ironically enough), and had joined him on a field excursion to see it at his insistence. He'd thought to bait her into a better mood with a creepy castle. It'd been fascinating, to be sure, but had given her nightmares about ghosts chasing after her for a month. Mother had given him quite the earful for that, often allowing her to sleep between them in their room while she gave her father the stink eye over her head.

She'd milked that for a week longer after the nightmares had ceased just to watch her father's face crumple so. Ah, but those were the days…

Kinloch Hold's great double doors opened with a loud groan (of course), and Elena rubbed at her arms instinctively. _This_ was the Circle of Magi? It felt…cold. Depressing, even. Did they even have _windows?_

"Duncan." The templar who she presumed was their Knight-Commander came forward and greeted them both with an expression that clearly said he knew why he was here and not exactly happy about it. "A pleasure to see you." His eyes trailed over to her, pointedly. "Who might this be? We can not allow civilians into the tower. You know this."

"I am Elena Cousland, ser." She dipped her head slightly in greeting from habit. Typical greetings were more formal with women curtsying and men bowing, but Bryce Cousland had always been notoriously informal and had passed it onto both her and Fergus. Just one more reason for Howe to hate them, she supposed. He'd always been an uptight bastard. "I am a Warden recruit."

"She speaks the truth, Knight-Commander." Duncan murmured something to him too low for her to hear as well, but she suspected she knew the gist of it when the Knight Commander gave her a sort of pitying look and nodded with a long suffering sigh.

"Very well," he conceded. "Irving is waiting for us in his office. Lady Cousland…" He nodded to her with a quick jerk of his head. "If you like, you may explore the first two levels of the tower. I would insist one of my templars accompany you for your protection, however."

"Thank you."

"Rylock." One of the templars near the door stepped forward. Her short auburn hair was pulled back in the two-bun style her mother had favored, though her countenance was as off-putting as the severe frown on her face. "Escort Lady Cousland around. The First Enchanter has had the guest quarters on the second floor prepared if she should wish to rest."

"Yes, Commander." The templar saluted before turning her hawk-eyed gaze to her.

Elena couldn't help it; she rolled her eyes. _Oh, this will be fun._

_

* * *

_

"I best not keep the First Enchanter waiting." Rubbing her forehead, Azalia ducked out before Jowan could inquire further about her Harrowing. Stupid templars. She felt at her neck where Cullen's sword had been pressed during her time in the Fade and scowled. Damn guy had shaky hands.

He'd see. Jowan was a worrywart by nature. She'd helped him get up to snuff in his primal spells herself. That had, essentially, been the only thing holding him back grade wise. He still wasn't all that confident in himself though and it translated into his spells.

Azalia barely noticed the congratulations she received from mages and apprentices alike; she'd known she would pass, after all. Offensively she couldn't be matched and on more then one occasion it had been said she was, _"Too stubborn to be possessed."_ While it had been meant as an insult at the time, she liked to think of it as more of a compliment. Stupid Fade demons.

As she strode down the second floor halls towards Irving's office (after a lively little debate with Niall and Senior Enchanter Torrin over the fraternities again), she detoured towards where her new quarters would be. She had no reason to go there as of yet, but her instincts told her to go there anyway.

Like the apprentice quarters had been, the ones for mages were co-ed as well and sectioned off into four quarters per room with at least a little semblance of privacy. One of them was out and the other was a mage she didn't know, though he congratulated her anyway; but the last of the mages?

Oh, she knew _him._

Sprawled lazily over the bed's covers and one of the tower's mousers curled on his stomach, Anders was whistling a jaunty tune as he made little swirls in the air with some fire. His hair had gotten longer in the year and a half he'd been gone this time, tied back into a ponytail so he could show off that gold earring the females in the tower always swooned over. Made him look dashing, they giggled. Oh, how he _smiles…_

"Hey!" He sat up when he noticed her, grinning with a quick apology to the cat that swished his tail irritably at being tossed off from his napping spot before trotting away. Probably to look for lunch, she mused. "I hear congratulations are in order."

"I kicked a demon's ass," she deadpanned. "Hurrah."

Her dryness was merely met with another chuckle. "Ah, so young to be such a cynic." He held out his hand and, when she was close enough, pulled her so she was sat down next to him. Curiously, he sniffed at her hair, humming some sort of approval. "Orlesian oranges. Sweet, but with a bite. Fitting."

Azalia laughed, turning her head just enough so she could look at Anders out of the corner of her eye. He was so _tall_. Back to back, she was nearly half his height. "They just let you out, didn't they?"

"How'd you guess?"

"Oh…I don't know. Maybe it's the sniffing my hair thing. You only sniff me if you've just gotten back from another escape attempt."

He sighed, half disappointed as he pulled away. "I've been in solitary for a _year._ It was _horrible_." The hand lingering behind her toyed idly with her dark, shoulder length hair. "And you always smell so _nice._ Like the outside. Where do you even manage to find that oil stuff? No one else here has it."

"My own secret." It irked the women to _hell_ that she had bath oils of any kind and refused to share. Well, she shared what little she made with Senior Enchater Leorah as a trade for using the caves, though the older elf mage kept it tucked away in her private quarters just to smell on the occasion rather then make herself smell pretty. She had a veritable distillery in the Circle's stock rooms and liked the luxury of the bath oils, once she'd realized how to do it. Jowan had complained she was a mad scientist with her supposedly unhealthy fascination with herbalism and poisons. Ah, if only she still had her father's old books…

"I should be getting to see Irving," she pointed out when he started leaning towards her to smell her again. She and Anders flirted on the occasion, of course, though she'd never gone far enough with him that she could honestly say whether all the rumors about him were true or not. He seemed to always have that unspoken look-or-sniff-but-don't-touch thing regarding her. It certainly wasn't because she was an elf, Azalia mused. She knew at least a dozen elven girls he'd slept with in the tower alone.

_Too bad,_ she lamented as she slipped out. They could talk more later since he was around again. Anders was always fun to talk to…when he wasn't in solitary or running free across Ferelden, of course. She _loved_ hearing about his exploits outside of the tower. It had been a decade already since she'd seen the sky or felt the warmth of the sun. Or run barefoot in the grass, even.

Azalia was so lost in thought she didn't even realize the First Enchanter and Gregoir were in the middle of arguing until she heard an unfamiliar voice butt in.

"There are more dangerous things then even blood mages out there; you know this." The argument, of course, fell on deaf ears with Gregoir.

The Knight-Commander cleared his throat, looking pointedly at her. "It seems you have a visitor, Irving. We can continue this conversation at a later time." He left without another word, as surly as he ever was.

"First Enchanter." She nodded and bowed slightly towards the stranger. "Ser."

"This is she?" The man looked at Irving for some sort of confirmation.

"It is indeed." To her, Irving said, "Azalia, this is Duncan, the Commander of Ferelden's Grey Wardens."

"A Grey Warden?" She didn't bother hiding her surprise. "It's an honor, ser. Is this why you called me?"

"No, no." Chuckling, Irving handed her a folded set of mage robes, a Circle ring, and the staff that had been leaning idly against his desk. "You are officially a Circle mage, my dear. Your phylactery has been sent to Denerim. Congratulations."

"Pardon me, but what is this phylactery?"

Azalia zoned out as Iriving informed the Warden about what the phylacteries were used for and tried out her staff. It was heavier then the ones apprentices trained with in classes and she could see the runes engraved in the wood for extra enchantments. It seemed to be a serviceable battle staff, actually, though it confused her. Mages never left the tower really, let alone battled, so why the hell would she need a battle staff?

It was something to think on for another day.

"Could you take Duncan back to his quarters and see to any requests he might have? The guest quarters down the hall near the library have been prepared for him."

"Of course, First Enchanter." With a quick nod, she left Irving to go continue his argument with Gregoir, Duncan close on her heels as they walked down the hall.

"Thank you very much; I enjoyed the company," he said when they arrived. "I have a young recruit wandering the towers with one of your templars; perhaps if you see her, you can show her around? I'm sure things are different from a mage's perspective and she could likely use the distraction."

"Of course." _A girl recruit, huh? Anyone not in these robes will stick out like a sore thumb. I just have to look for the giant male swarm buzzing around her._

She did, ironically, run into her – right as she walked out of the room, actually. Azalia felt her forehead crack against someone else's loud enough that she hissed slightly in pain. Cracking an eye open, she actually first saw Rylock glaring at her (did the woman _ever_ smile?), though she looked at the young woman she'd run into and faltered slightly.

"Elena?"

* * *

Whatever reaction she was expecting, a high pitched shriek and a hug that knocked them both to the floor was definitely _not_ it. Several mages peered out from their rooms to see about the commotion and watched, unabashedly intrigued as Azalia practically squeezed the breath out of her in a hug.

"So I guess you are glad to see me?" she murmured wryly.

"It is _wonderful_ to see you, Elena!" Her grip loosened somewhat, though she still was hugging her. Hesitantly, she returned the gesture and sighed. When they finally pulled apart, they were still essentially sitting in the middle of the floor, a congregation of spectators watching them all unashamedly. What an odd picture they must have made. "I…didn't think I would see you or anyone else _ever_ again. What are you doing here?"

_Never?_ Surely people could visit their family? Elena swallowed her confusion for later though. "I came with Duncan. I'm one of his Warden recruits."

"How in the world did you convince the Teyrn and Teyrna to let you do _that?_"

It was a natural question, of course. Normally, she wouldn't have been allowed to go off and fight darkspawn. While she'd been trained in the arts of a rogue like her mother, they'd been purely for self defense despite her aptitude for making things bleed. The pain of hearing them spoken of though was still too fresh and the despair must've shown on her face because Azalia's smile dropped as soon as she saw it.

"Did something happen?" When she didn't answer, her friend grabbed her arms and shook her a little. "Elena? _What happened?_"

"Howe…killed them." The anger that had been boiling under her skin poured into her words as she glared at the ground. "He attacked the castle and…he killed so many. Murdered father…mother stayed behind, but…"

Her elven blue eyes were unnaturally wide as she whispered tenuously, "My…parents? Elena? Did my parents…?"

"I don't know," she whispered, shamefully. Even quieter, she said, "It is very likely, however…"

**_"NO!"_** By then, two of the mages who'd been standing around watching them were making their way forward, obviously concerned at the tone their conversation had taken. The taller of the two caught Azalia as her eyes rolled back into her head, his hands glowing faintly as he presumably made sure she was alright.

"I'm sorry." At least he didn't bother pretending _not_ to have heard.

He carried her off to her room, presumably, the other trailing after them with a worried frown on his face. She'd meant to tell her…well…differently. Granted, her reaction would likely have been the same. Obviously, Azalia hadn't changed too much in that regard.

"I meant to tell her differently," she mused aloud, more to herself then to Duncan, though he listened anyway with the wise calmness of someone who'd delivered his fair share of bad news as well. "Ugh…my head's so scrambled I can't even think straight."

"Might I suggest a good night's rest?" he offered, sympathy clear in his gaze. At least it wasn't pity. She'd have to maim someone if they give her one more pitying look. "We will be here at least another day and I'm sure your friend will have…questions.

Elena nodded and crawled into the cot that had been setup against the far wall. Rest sounded…good. She felt bone tired and she really did need to talk with her. There was just…she had no idea where to even begin.

Tomorrow would be a long day.

* * *

_"Papae…"_

_"Azalia."_ That wasn't her father's voice; it was young and not quite as deep as she remembered. As she opened her eyes, she realized with distaste they were still damp with tears and it was Anders, not her father, who'd been calling to her. He brought up a mana covered hand to check her head, nodding once when he found nothing amiss.

"They wanted to send the Reverend Mother in to watch over you," he told her, a shadow of a grin on his face. "I didn't think you'd appreciate it much."

No, she wouldn't have. She and the Circle's Reverend Mother got along about as much as Anders and Irving did – which was to say, not at _all_. Hearing her go on about how the Maker worked in mysterious ways that were not always understood would've just pissed her off. Just thinking it made her fingers twitch.

Anders saw the movement and chuckled. "Yeah. See? Anders has your back; no worries."

"Where's Jowan?" She would've expected him to be hovering there with that mother hen expression on his face. When Anders' face fell, worry clawed at her gut. Something had happened; had they harrowed him during the night? She hadn't failed to notice it was now morning, after all. Had he _failed?_

"Jowan is…" Anders mulled over what he was going to say and sighed. "He's gone, Azalia. They were coming to Tranquil him. He…ran. Used blood magic to wipe the floor with the templars and bolted into the night."

_Blood magic?_ It was the templars greatest fear and grounds enough to automatically get him killed on sight. Odd, considering the Harrowing killed more people in a year then blood magic did. But…Jowan? _A blood mage?_ He whined whenever he got a paper cut, never mind voluntarily slicing open his own skin.

Anders must've been thinking the same thing because he nodded. "I know; it seems odd, right? He's not exactly the type who likes pain. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it myself. He was…telling you goodbye when they came for him."

"You didn't stop him?"

"Too shocked to even if I'd _had_ the inclination." Making a face, he said, "Did you know that he was doing it with one of the Chantry initiates? _Jowan_,for crying out loud. He was escaping with her, though she refused after the whole blood magic thing. Gregoir sent her to Aeonar."

_This is what happens when I pass out. When life decides to kick me it aims for my head with metal-toed boots, doesn't it?_ Azalia shook her head. She really didn't know what to think. It was possible her family had escaped, after all. News of the Teyrn and Teyrna's murder was distressing as it was…they'd always been such kind people. She'd liked them; they'd treated her like part of the family. It was unheard of, considering she was only an elf. Gregoir, stodgy as he could be, had even told her they'd tried to arrange to see her in the beginning and had written letters that had, unfortunately, been sent right back by the then-Knight-Commander . He hadn't been the Knight-Commander yet; his predecessor was a royal bastard and the one who'd refused to even let her say goodbye to her mother and father that day. The day Gregoir had taken control had actually been a blessing.

He was still an ass, though.

She'd hoped they might write her still when Gregoir had been given the position, but a year and a half had passed by then; she'd never gotten a letter. Gregoir would've at least given her _that, _if any had come. She suspected he'd felt a little bad about it since he'd made a conscious effort not to be too much of an ass to those he knew had suffered under his predecessor's whims.

It made him at least marginally better then most templars; reasonable was not a term she generally associated with them, after all.

"Are they still here?"

"The Wardens?" Anders nodded. "I hear they're actually looking at _you_ for a position within their ranks. I heard Irving mention they'd be here for the day at the very least."

That pulled her out of her thoughts rather effectively. _"Me?"_ She didn't mean to shriek that. It was just…her? A Warden? It seemed…odd, was all. She'd always presumed being the First Enchanter after Irving was the best she could hope for. He hadn't disguised his desire to shape her into that position, after all. It was no secret to anyone that it was what he'd hoped to do.

But a Warden? She'd actually go into battle and…

_I'd be free._ That particular revelation stopped her short. _I'd be beyond the Chantry and their templar's grasps. I could see the sky and touch the water and feel the grass beneath my feet again._ The more she thought of it, the more Azalia liked that idea. _I could even try and find my parents…see if they possibly survived._

"You." Anders didn't bother hiding the envy in his tone. It actually made her smile; an expression he eventually returned full force. "You won't need little ole me to tell you about all my exploits. You can have some of your own to tell _me_ about next time."

"None nearly so colorful, I'm sure." Azalia laughed lightly just remembering some of the ridiculous situations he could get himself into. "A Grey Warden, huh?"

"The First Enchanter wanted to see you when you woke up," he pointed out. "Said they'd be waiting for you in the Great Hall upstairs."

"I'll go see him. Thanks, Anders." She turned to leave, pausing as a thought occurred to her. From what she knew of the Grey Wardens, it was very likely the darkspawn they fought so adamantly could kill her before they ever crossed paths again. Azalia had always wondered what he would do as well if…

It was a very simple and chaste kiss to his cheek, her lips tingling from the stubble that was always on his face as she pulled away. It certainly wasn't anything exciting, she mused. Nothing that warranted the expression on his face, anyway. They'd shared a few less-then-innocent kisses over the years much more pleasing. She could even admit to harboring a small…affection for him. They'd shared little else beyond that, though; for some reason, he'd always had this absurd idea he was much too old for her to even be looking at in _that way_ despite a mere five years difference in age. Maybe that was why he'd never done much of anything with her even though she'd have certainly been willing enough.

Azalia left him there before she could do something utterly silly like fall into his lap, making her way to the third floor where she could already hear the sounds and feel the energy of mages casting. If the Wardens were looking for recruits, obviously she wasn't the only one they were considering.

Guiltily, she avoided Elena slightly when she arrived. She had no idea what to say to her. Duncan and Irving seemed pleased that she wasn't too bad off considering her reaction yesterday, however. It had always been like that; her father had taught her never to dwell on sadness for too long. Such was the ways of the Dalish; the ways in which he'd taught her to take life's tragedies if they should ever come her way.

"Just in time," Irving admitted. "I'm sure you are already aware that Duncan is looking for a recruit to bring back with him to Ostagar and that you are one of them."

"Yes, First Enchanter. I'm aware." Since Anders told her a few minutes ago, anyway.

With a slight smile, he motioned her off to where the other mages were waiting and explained what they were to do. Essentially, Duncan wanted them to show off in some friendly sparring, though because there were only five mages, including herself, Elena was to battle one of them as well.

It came as little surprise that Elena was to spar with her. Azalia had a sneaking suspicion Duncan had intended it that way all along. That was fine, anyway. At least she wouldn't need to hold back.

The first pair to spar was between mages she was quite familiar with. Pyrrha was a mage she'd seen around Anders several times and bore little if any love for her. She was best with spells that bolstered defenses, though her opponent made it rather difficult. Hasan was notorious as a master at debilitation, and Azalia watched rather amusedly as Pyrrha eventually succumbed to one of his sleep spells and fell, flashing half of their audience on her way down.

Speaking of Anders…she noticed he'd snuck up and was among the onlookers scattered along the edges of the Great Hall. No doubt on hand in case of any injuries, now that she thought about it. Much as the Senior Enchanters disliked him, he _did_ put them all to shame in the Creation school of magic. And with Wynne already at Ostagar, he was the best healer the tower had available at the moment.

"Ladies." Irving motioned her forward when Pyrrha had been cleared of the floor and Hasan strutted back to the wall, confident of himself as ever.

Anders looked his way, then to her, and rolled his eyes.

Azalia just chuckled as she took her place.

"This is just a friendly spar," Duncan reminded them, eyeing Elena as she twirled her daggers idly in her hands.

"I know," she told him. Azalia noted the shifting in her feet, however, and nearly snorted. She remembered well what 'sparring' looked like to the Couslands; had helped patch both Elena and Fergus up as best she could afterwards and helped them hide evidence of such spars to little success. (The Teyrn and Teyrna knew, of course; the sole memory of the spar she'd seen _them _have had made her wake up in a cold sweat on several occasions.)

She'd sparred with them as well, on the occasion, though she'd still been in training by her parents to be a rogue. Now, she was a mage, the muscles in her arms from rogue training long since gone. Like many mages, Azalia specialized in the Primal school of magic as well which was mostly offensive spells. It was popular because it was the simplest to learn of the schools, though the hardest to perfect and make your own. Masters of the other magic schools generally stood out more because Primal mages all generally did the same thing with little variation. She knew her fair share of Entropy, Creation, and Spirit spells, but Primal was by far her best.

As soon as Irving started their spar, Elena faded from sight with stealth and Azalia didn't bother hiding her grin. It was good to know she still used the same techniques, at least.

For a few moments, she didn't move, concentrating on the shifts in the hall itself; the ebb and flow of its energy. There was always a flow of energy wherever you went and it was the only skill of her father's she still clearly remembered. With the naturally keener hearing of the elves, it was easier to pick up the slight disturbances and have a good guess at where enemies might be.

Like now.

Azalia brought her new staff up above her head just as Elena melted back into sight, daggers smashing against the wooden shaft before she flipped away, adrenaline making them both grin like idiots. Concentrating, she let frost radiate from her staff, her fingers tingling with magic as she brought it up to deflect another blow.

"You're going easy on me," she complained after several more simple deflections.

"He said it was supposed to be a _friendly_ spar." Elena looked at Duncan pointedly as she said this.

"Well be a little less friendly, huh?" To make her point, she shot a bolt of lightning from her finger that zapped Elena's foot with enough power that it made her yelp. "I'm not a fragile doll."

She gave one adamant curse before disappearing from sight again, her speed at least five times faster. She didn't conceal the shift in the room at all though, so Azalia formed an elbow pad of solid rock covered in frost on her right arm as she ducked below Elena's swing. As she stood, Azalia jerked her arm back to elbow her; the magic grazed Elena's cheek before she could slink away, shattering as it hit the pillar behind her and leaving quite an impressive dent that had several of the enchanters staring at her in shock.

Azalia tossed her staff to the side while Elena readied herself for her next attack. It was too big for such a crowded room and was only getting in the way of her movements. It was bad enough that she couldn't move freely in these long robes with how they clung to her legs. Touching the already damaged pillar of stone, Azalia focused on the earthy mineral itself, manipulating it to her will. It was a very rough version of a short sword due to the lack of complete focus when she was done, but it was serviceable enough for a spar. Manipulating solid matter was always much harder to do with divided attention compared to, say, changing the shape of a candle's flame.

She heard the murmur in the onlookers rise as she pulled the makeshift weapon away and wanted to laugh. Manipulation certainly wasn't a skill the Circle taught its mages – let alone mages Harrowed only 24 hours ago. It wasn't impossible, however, if one thought about it. If she could've focused all her attention to manipulating the mineral, Azalia knew she could've easily made a nice blade as deadly sharp as any dwarven smith in Orzammar.

For years, she'd been teased about spending her hours in the Circle's libraries with her head in a book or in the laboratories. She had only a handful of people she spoke to and only two that she would even consider naming as friends. The rest had hated her for being an elf, being favored by Irving, for her talent, or even a combination of all three. But she'd always _loved_ messing with her magic – trying to find new ways to use it. Manipulation of solid matter was merely the results of years of hard work, curiosity, refinement, and voluntary solitude.

_Not laughing at me now though, are they?_ Azalia allowed herself a brief moment of smug satisfaction before deflecting a blow towards her arm.

Elena was _stronger_ though. And more practiced. Azalia hadn't fought with a weapon in years and didn't have the muscles her arms had once had, so she found herself forced back against the far wall, making many onlookers rush to get out of their way while still staying within view of their fight. One blade did graze along the skin of her arm and drew blood, making her wince, though Azalia managed to get a hit to Elena's leg with her hand that was burning with a fire just hot enough to burn the skin uncomfortably.

It was, to the wise, a sign of how things were going to turn out.

When Irving decided they'd seen enough, they were both in mid-attack and on a serious adrenaline high. Azalia lost her concentration mid-attack because of his sudden interference and the flames around her hand burned hotter then she'd intended, burning straight through Elena's armor like it was butter and scorching her skin enough that you could smell the flesh burning.

This happened, of course, as Elena sank her dagger far harder and deeper then she'd likely intended, her own concentration shattered. Pain blossomed in her thigh as the blade sank in and actually protruded slightly out the other side. Azalia sank to the ground and stared at it, numb for several seconds before she actually felt the pain of it.

"You stabbed me!" She was more shocked then angry.

"You burned me _extra crispy!"_ Elena sounded rather disbelieving as well while the First Enchanter went over and tended to her himself, shaking his head.

Azalia didn't notice Anders was the one tending to her until she heard the ripping of fabric as he ripped her robe open all the way up to her hip. He also had a look on his face that made her frown at him slightly. "Can you at least _try_ not to look so happy about that?"

His gaze lingered at her thigh, traveling down her one bare leg and back to the wound again, his grin only widening before he finally laughed. "You should know me better then that by now. I'm just checking out your…wounds."

Azalia just sighed and stared at the ceiling while he worked, cursing only when he removed the dagger itself once convinced she wouldn't bleed to death. She did indeed know better.

Checking her wounds. Ha!

* * *

_He's very handsome,_ Elena noticed inanely as the mage tending to Azalia helped carry her to the next room so he could properly tend to her injury. She felt…lighter, for some reason. The rage, for better or worse, felt like it had subsided, still there but contained. Without it clouding her head, she was now noticing lots of things that she hadn't before.

First among them being that the Knight-Commander was crazy.

"She's too dangerous to be let out of the Tower, Irving!" While most of the mages seemed impressed by Azalia's skill, the Knight-Commander was not. "Did you just _see_ that fight? That kind of power can not be left unmonitored!"

"I know I did," Duncan tossed in, "and now more then ever I believe I made the right choice. She would be an _invaluable_ asset to the Wardens and our fight against the darkspawn. I would bring the young mage with me to Ostagar, First Enchanter, where she will join the ranks of the Wardens."

Gregoir, as his name apparently was, actually _glared_ at him. "Absolutely not! We can not have such a mage leaving the safety of this tower!"

"Prison," Elena muttered, loud enough that only Irving seemed to hear her if his slight chuckle was anything to go by. Looking backwards to Duncan from her prone position on the floor, she pointed out, "You could always conscript her, couldn't you? It is allowed, correct?" She hissed as her shoulder began healing, the debrided flesh knitting together with Irving's help.

Now _that_ was a feeling she'd rather not feel ever again.

Duncan nodded. "Indeed, I can…and will, if that is what is necessary. We will need all the strength we can get to defeat the Blight. And this _is_ a Blight, Knight-Commander. Do not doubt that."

The templar looked like he'd just sucked on a particularly sour lemon, but he did not argue further.

That night, after she'd been healed back to normal and the announcement had been made of Azalia's impending departure with them in the morning, the mages seemed to unanimously agree a celebration was in order. They all convened in the Great Hall where food had been laid out, though the most prominent was the amount of liquor present. Strong stuff, too; Orlesian wine, Antivan brandy, Dwarven ale…every possible kind of liquor she could think of was there. It was enough to sufficiently make all of Ferelden passed out drunk, yet the mages drank like it was water. It fairly boggled her mind and Highever's soldiers could be quite rowdy when they wished to be. She barely drank the single pint she'd held in her hand, too intrigued by the rest of those around her.

Elena was even _more_ fascinated by their complete lack of…well, lack of inhibitions.

Public displays of affection weren't uncommon among nobles, but they were nothing like here where girls sat in men's laps and…well…the gazes they shared were hot enough that even she had the distinct urge to crawl under the table and give them some privacy.

Even _Azalia_ was crawled onto a man's lap!

At least she wasn't mauling his face, considering what some of the other mages were up to. She was definitely drunk though and nestled quite happily on the lap of the healer who'd taken care of her. Judging by his grin, he didn't mind it one bit, though his fingers did seem to twitch every so often like they wanted to do more then just make sure she didn't fall right off of his lap. As she came closer, she saw her friend was actually asleep, giggling every so often with her arms wrapped loosely around his neck. As far as men went, he was a rather nice looking guy with a bit of that rebel look to him. He even had a gold earring that winked at her every so often when the lights reflected off of it just so.

"You look comfortable," Elena noted with a small smirk. She eyed the envious stares being shot at the oblivious elf's head amusedly. My, but their faces were almost green with the envy.

"I've a drink in my hand and a passed out woman on my lap while another vision of loveliness comes to chat me up." He laughed delightedly. "It's every man's dream!" As an after thought, he glanced in the direction of where Duncan was deep in discussion with Gregoir and Irving. "Almost, anyway. I always imagined I would be in some disreputable Denerim pub rather then here and without the bucket-head chaperones."

"Are you a friend of hers?" She motioned towards Azalia with her free hand as she took a seat near them.

He actually seemed to stop and think about that. "I…I suppose so. Huh." He looked at her with an almost shocked expression. "Never thought of it that way, but I guess we are."

_Strange. Is it a mage thing?_ She'd have to inquire about it later. Now that she and Azalia would be traveling together, well…they had much to catch up on, it seemed. And she was _very_ curious about the look that crossed over the healer's face. "I'm Elena Cousland."

He raised his drink to her and dipped his head in a nod. "A pleasure, my lady. May I also offer my condolences? I met your father, once; when I was a kid. My…parents and I were in Highever so he could trade and the Teyrn came over. He seemed like a decent man."

"Thank you." Without thinking, she took a longer drink then normal just thinking about it. Getting wasted sounded like a mighty fine idea, but she didn't want to be walking with a hangover come morning. Somehow, she doubted Duncan would appreciate it. "So are you and her…" She made a lofty gesture with her hands, unsure of how to ask. It wasn't strictly any of her business, after all. But she found herself undeniably curious and alcohol had always made her tongue a little looser then normal.

"Me? Her? Nah…" Elena was sure she was just imagining the regretful tone. "All for the best, I think. I'm more likely to be declared a maleficar and struck down before we ever cross paths again." With an almost fond expression, he shifted Azalia into a more comfortable position. "But the princess locked inside the tower is finally free." Raising his pint, he grinned disarmingly. "To freedom!"

She'd drink to that. "To freedom!"

_

* * *

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**A/N: **_This is probably the single longest chapter I've ever written…sheesh. And we won't really see Anders again until later, so I had to get my fill of him. He's like the best of Alistair and Zevran combined.  
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_As always, reviews are encouraged and appreciated. So please; click that button!_


	3. Shems, Flatears, and the Dalish

**Chapter Three**

_Shems, Flat-ears, and the Dalish _

* * *

Azalia always thought she'd kiss the ground when the day came that she could walk under the sun again. Maybe even tell a few people what she _really_ thought of them. Like that human, Keili. Ugh, if she had to hear her whine about how magic was evil one more time she was going to _learn_ how to transform people into frogs – just so she could turn _her_ into one. Why Irving wouldn't make her tranquil was beyond her.

But of all her reactions to freedom that she'd envisioned…well, admittedly, this was definitely not on that list.

"I'm _so_ sorry." She stared, balefully, at the forest they were camped in and scowled.

"We should've realized you'd get sick," Elena muttered. Absently, she kept running her boots along the dirt and Azalia stared guiltily at the stains from where she'd vomited on them. Face scrunching, her friend asked somewhat quieter, "You…really haven't been outside in ten years? At all?"

Her face pinched together slightly, remembering. "No. We are…mages are seen to be too dangerous. We're caged inside under the guise of protection when, in reality, it is little more then our prison." Looking up at the sky through the tree branches, she sighed in contentment. "Anders – that guy I fell asleep on – has made escaping that place an art form. He always gets caught, eventually, but not before doing something story worthy. We got to know each other after he realized…well, he wasn't the only one who remembered what it was like before the tower. It drains the memories of your life from you, after awhile. He was the one who told me all about things upon his return."

"Yes…" Perhaps to brighten their spirits, Elena grinned coyly. "I noticed you two seemed particularly…close."

"I was closer to Jowan more then Anders." Just remembering her friend – even if he was a blood mage, he would always be such to her – made Azalia wonder where he'd gone. "I knew him longer, since my first day there, and he made it somewhat tolerable for me having someone to talk to and that shared my fascination with our abilities. But Anders…he reminded me more of the outside world; that there was life beyond the lake that I hadn't forgotten entirely. There were days, after some years had passed, that I feared I was forgetting who I was."

"Damyan and Udia missed you terribly," Elena told her sadly. "Your dad…he was never quite the same. Not even getting to say goodbye…hurt him. Father was livid and wrote to the tower several times to allow them to see you – to visit at least once – but they just sent it back."

"_Broaner."_ Azalia spat his name like it was evil and, from the year of his rule before Gregoir had taken over, he was. "Gregoir told me about it once he took over the position of Knight-Commander from him. Sodding bastard. I hated him."

"I guess I know why my letters got returned now," Elena mused wryly. "I'm sorry. It sounds so horrible there."

"Not all of it was terrible," she admitted, "but I wouldn't recommend it to anyone. I learned a lot about my magic so, rest assured, I won't be burning your hair off by mistake at the least." They both laughed at that. "Speaking of…did your brother…?"

"He left for Ostagar before nightfall," Elena sighed. "He may yet live, if Howe didn't catch up to him." She chuckled briefly. "His eyebrows grew back, eventually. Married an Antivan lady, Oriana, and had a son named…Oren."

Azalia didn't need to ask if they'd been at the castle; her distraught expression said it all. _Poor Fergus. He doesn't even know yet. This is such a disaster. _Her mind inevitably traveled to her own parents, their fates unknown. To be honest, she wasn't sure whether to wish they'd escaped and be branded Runaways, to be hunted for breaking their oaths of service to Highever, or to hope they'd perished so as not to suffer Howe and his general vitriol for elves.

Elena looked ready to collapse in despair again so Azalia sat up, shaking her head. She'd never been as grateful for her father's Dalish teachings as she was now. Having both of them drawn into such despair over Highever's occupation would do them little good.

"Let's go meet Duncan at the ruins. We could help him investigate and I think I might even know which ones he spoke of."

Elena nodded, cheered slightly at the idea. "I imagine Lethallin is missing me, anyways."

* * *

She heard the rustle in the bushes and paused, her hand automatically darting out to halt Tamlen in his tracks. There was no need, though – he'd heard it too. They were the best hunters in the clan, after all. Unlike Tamlen who preferred his sword and shield, she preferred the more traditional bow and arrows approach. Despite their obvious talent, however, they usually ended up on scouting duty which was the least desirable job in their clan and thus was often used as punishments.

Technically, it was only Tamlen who was supposed to be scouting today since he hadn't actually given her up, but Lyna had snuck away from helping Master Varathorn of Keeper Zathrian's clan (he was visiting Ilen, their clan's armorer) to join him anyway. She liked being with him; he was her best friend, though she _and _Ashalle were hoping they would be bonded. The woman who was essentially her mother had all but said so the last time they'd discussed her future and when, exactly, she planned on giving her some grandchildren to fuss over.

Traditionally, it was the men who chose what woman they would bond to. If she found him agreeable, the bonding ceremony was prepared; if not, the one she desired would essentially fight the other man to prove himself worthy of such affections if he so chose. If the man she wanted won, they would be bonded; it was the only way in which women technically asked the men. If the other won the challenge, however…well, a woman had very little choice at that point. Very rarely did a woman remain unbonded for so long that the Keeper had to arrange it _for_ her, however.

She was thirty six now – young by elven standards considering they aged much slower then the shemlens and she looked barely older then a shemlen child of sixteen – but certainly nearing the point where their Keeper, Marethari, was considering arranging a bonding for her. Lyna feared this; she didn't want that when the one she wished to bond with was less then a foot away from her and staring around the Brecillian Forest for signs of what had made that rustling noise. Tamlen had never mentioned either way what his opinion was on the matter; he was too shy to even discuss it with her without looking like he would faint. It was part of his awkwardly endearing charm that she loved so much.

Even if she did want to bash his head in with his precious shield sometimes.

She felt rather foolish after standing there for awhile, the forest quiet around them. If someone _was_ there, they hid very well. Lyna rather doubted anyone was there, but the Dalish hadn't survived for so long without a good healthy dose of paranoia.

"Come on," Tamlen finally said, his shoulder relaxing minutely, "Let's go find these ruins those shems spoke of."

Lyna resettled her bow behind her and nodded. She was as curious as Tamlen was about the ruins and the presence of written elvish, though something…unsettled her. A danger, even, that lurked just around the corner waiting to bite and swallow them up whole.

The path they'd followed eventually descended into a cave she was unfamiliar with. There was something vaguely sinister in the air surrounding it; a nameless threat that worried her enough that she grabbed Tamlen's arm as he moved to enter.

"I don't like this." Her fingers curled around his arms, lean and rippling with well defined muscles. If she weren't so worried, she might've even appreciated them more. "There is something…not right about these caves."

"Always the cautious one, lethallan." Gently, he held his own hand over her, a soft smile on his lips. The curls of his vallaslin set at either end of his mouth twitched in obvious amusement. Lyna forced herself to ignore the tingling his touch caused, or the effect his suddenly teasing smile had on her heart. "One might even say paranoid, sometimes."

She ignored the remark; he was, if anything, the most paranoid of them usually and he knew it.

When she didn't lighten up, he sighed. "I know, lethallan. I feel it too. But it's all the more reason for us to investigate, yes? With it this close to the camp, it could be something dangerous that Marethari will need to know about at once."

He had a point. Lyna knew it was a valid reason to go in deeper – to investigate. They were usually the ones who went to investigate such matters, anyway…though Fenarel or Junar and Merrill were typically there as well. "Can we not at least go and get Fenarel and Merrill? My skin crawls just looking at this place." She shivered then, as if her body itself was trying to prove a point.

The action definitely gave Tamlen pause. She was no coward and feared absolutely nothing; she hadn't so much as twitched even once during her vallaslin – a feat few could accomplish. That she would be stalling and protesting this much had to be telling him just how bad this feeling was. But curiosity was perhaps Tamlen's greatest weakness; he would often times ignore things in his desire to sate it. One of the reasons they were always sent on errands together was that she had the best chance of hopefully curbing it before he one day did something incredibly stupid.

Whatever he decided, he never said. Lyna heard the rustling behind her and whirled, an arrow notched in her bow before she even completed the turn. Tamlen had his own sword and shield out at the ready, eyes narrowed as she loosed a warning shot into the bushes.

"Hey!" It was an elf, to her surprise, that jumped out from the bushes with a wide-eyed expression, staff in her hand and robes that looked dreadfully…confining. She heard Tamlen stiffen, however, when a _shemlen_ of all things came out as well, her gaze almost impressed as she kept staring at where Lyna presumed her arrow had hit.

"Nice shot."

The flat-ear grumbled, throwing her hands up. "Yes, they shoot at us, nearly take off my _ear,_ and all you can think of is that _she's a good shot_. Sodding Couslands. You never change!"

The shemlen laughed heartily. "Oh please, you'd be impressed too if it hadn't been you it nearly hit."

"Yes." The flat ear gave the shemlen a look similar to the one Lyna herself gave to Tamlen often enough when he got particularly exasperating. "Imagine that. Why _ever_ would I be bothered by that?"

"What are you doing in these forests?" Tamlen demanded, sounding a slight bit annoyed. "Here to avenge your friends?"

Lyna thought briefly of the thieves they'd struck down earlier and frowned. It would be too soon for the shemlens to have found them.

"Friends?" The shemlen gave them a confused look, moving in a way that made Lyna think this wasn't her first time coming across her people. They both moved slowly when necessary and were very careful to keep their hands where they could see them. "Avenge _them_? We're just looking for one. Duncan. We are Grey Warden recruits and came to find him. He said something about investigating some ruins. We followed once my friend, here, recovered."

Lyna relaxed, marginally. She knew of the Grey Wardens; they were highly respected amongst her people despite the largely shemlen makeup of the order. "We have not seen your Duncan, but it seems we may be able to help each other." She looked back at Tamlen who didn't look very happy at the idea in her head, though he nodded. "We were about to go into the caves ourselves; there may be relics of our lost heritage inside and we would find them. If you accompany us, we may even be able to find this Duncan inside."

The flat ear and shemlen looked at each other much in the way friends who've known each other do. They seemed to hold some silent conversation as they stared each other down until, eventually, the flat ear through her hands up again and sighed. "Fine! Just try not to get us killed, yes? I'll be severely put out if I die after only a _day_ of freedom."

"I have a bad feeling about this," Tamlen grumbled.

"Don't worry, lethallin," Lyna sighed, looking at the caves rather then their temporary companions. "So do I."

* * *

Elena rubbed at her arms, bothered as they walked deeper into the ruins. The two Dalish elves they'd come across spoke amongst themselves as if they weren't there, but that was fine. She remembered Damyan's warnings if she should ever come across them; he'd said they were naturally distrustful of humans and Elena even understood why. She'd be too, after the Chantry all but demolished their culture. She hated that part of the Chantry; they'd warped into something that even her father had been hard-pressed to like.

"The veil is thin here." Azalia's eyes kept moving, scanning the halls around them as if she expected something horrible to jump out at her. "I don't like this. Perhaps we should've waited for Duncan at the camp after all."

"The only thing that's been jumping out at us is these stupid spiders; don't worry." To make a point, Elena kicked at the corpse of one that the Dalish pair ahead of them were systematically taking out before either of them could even raise a weapon.

When the two stopped to look at some statue, Elena looked closer at the large door nearby, curious.

"Elena…" Azalia's voice was tight with warning.

_**Click**_**.**

_Crap._ Elena gagged as the trap triggered, coughing as the gas surrounded her. Opening her eyes, she had to blink a few times to make sure she was seeing right. _Oh, now that is just CREEPY._

Azalia let loose a curse in a tongue that _sounded_ like Tevinter, using her staff as a weapon instead when the walking dead skeletons got too close. "Why do you never listen to me?"

"You just said my name!" she shot back. "I didn't hear you say, _"Watch out for the poison gas trap and the walking dead, Elena"!_"

"It _went without saying!"_

"Are all shemlens and flat ears like this, you think?" the male Dalish whispered to his companion who Elena saw shrug as they both continued firing off arrows with their bows.

When the last of them finally fell and Azalia dispelled the remnants of the poison gas from her, the male elf kicked one of the felled corpses and frowned. "That's…disturbing. Keeper Marethari will want to know of this."

"Why do I think this won't get much better beyond this next door?" the female sighed, eerily similar to the sound Azalia made. "I'm never listening to you again, Tamlen."

Her friend, Tamlen, actually chuckled at this. "You said that last time too, Lyna, and yet here you are."

Lyna scowled at him, though it was half-hearted at best. "Let's just go." With more gusto then was probably necessary, she shoved the next doors open with a flourish…

…and nearly got a dagger straight between the eyes for all her trouble.

Not that Elena could blame the perpetrator; Duncan was there fighting what looked like a bear that had lost a really bad fight with a big porcupine, it's unnatural eyes seeming to stare at them a few seconds before charging their way instead. Between the five of them, however, it didn't even make it to where they stood before falling over on its side with a rumbling groan.

Lethallin barked when he saw her, racing out from behind the thing and tackling her to the ground so he could slobber her with kisses. "Enough! Down, Lethallin!"

Both Dalish raised their eyebrows at this, though they said nothing. Instead, they looked towards the strange mirror Duncan was observing, curiosity obviously piqued.

"Andraste's tits," Azalia breathed, "That's a Tevinter mirror!" She muttered something again in a language Elena couldn't understand, shaking her head. "It's a gateway into the fade." To Duncan, she demanded, "Why haven't you destroyed it yet? That thing is _evil!_"

He wiped the blood from his face, lip twitching somewhat. "I was somewhat…detained before I could do so." He stared pointedly at the spiky bear.

"I think I saw something," Tamlen said, almost hypnotized in his curiosity, and stepped a little closer. He was about half way across the room, where Duncan was standing.

"Tamlen," Lyna called out at the same time Elena, too, saw something…flicker in the mirror's reflection.

Oh, that couldn't be good.

"Get back!" She heard Azalia shout something and Elena could feel the magic pick up, her friend pushing the elf back towards his friend and making them both stumble out of the room and to the floor just as _something_ pulsed out of the mirror. It smacked Elena back so hard she slammed into the wall right next to the two dazed Dalish, her vision blanking. Her last thought was, _that's going to hurt when I wake up,_ before the entire world went black.

* * *

To say Marethari was furious was an understatement.

The thing about her anger, however, was that she didn't yell. Not really. It was more of a tone, really, but it was scarier then if she yelled considering Lyna never quite knew what she'd do. "What were you two thinking, da'lens?_"_ She stared them both down. "You could've been killed – or worse. As it is, the young mage is lucky to be alive, though I can't say how. That you have broken bones and bruises is a miracle. Mythal has watched over you both indeed this day."

Tamlen gave the Keeper a pitiful look but said nothing. The mage hadn't been kind when she'd tossed him away, though Lyna couldn't bring herself to be angry over that. He'd cracked a rib and punctured a lung which would keep him bedridden for awhile. Bad as that was, however, the flat ear was faring much worse.

Whatever that mirror the Grey Warden had destroyed before they left did, it'd made the mage sick enough that it had nearly bled her life dry. Both Merrill and Marethari had been working on her non-stop for three days now and had finally gotten her to a point where it seemed like she might live. The Grey Warden had said something about it being "The Taint", though he would elaborate no further.

Once the keeper had suitably scolded them, Lyna left the aravel while Tamlen slept again, slowly making her way towards where the mage slept fitfully. The shemlen, Elena, was pacing out front of it with her dog watching her with an almost exhausted expression. When she came close, it growled lowly, but the girl hushed him and nodded at her once.

"How…does she fare?"

"Alright, I think. For now." She chewed uneasily at the bottom of her lip. "Duncan says once we get to Ostagar and give her the Joining, she should be fine."

Uncomfortably, Lyna glanced at the aravel opening. "May I…"

"Of course." Elena stood aside, motioning for her dog to do the same.

The mage grimaced, more from pain then her presence she hoped, and nodded. "Hello."

_It could've been Tamlen._ The thought had been bouncing in her head as soon as she'd realized how bad things were and Lyna felt sick just thinking. She'd seen the shield that this elf mage had tossed upon Tamlen before tossing him away from the mirror. Whatever she'd seen, whatever that thing had done, it could've very well been Tamlen who could've died.

"I owe you a debt I don't think I can ever properly repay," she said softly, sitting down next to her and bowing her head. "You saved not only my own life, but the life of one I cherish more then any other in this world." Lyna swallowed, closing her eyes. She'd spoken to Marethari about what she wanted to do and, while it saddened the Keeper, she'd agreed it seemed only fair. "I owe you two life debts…Azalia, isn't it?" When she nodded slightly, Lyna continued. "You go to join the Wardens, I understand. It hardly seems enough, but I would be honored if you would allow me to go with you. I shall help you fight this Blight and in doing so hope to repay you for all that you've done for me and my clan."

The girl seemed like she might protest; it was on her face, though she seemed to catch herself and, rather reluctantly, nodded. "OK. We'll probably need the help, anyway, but I was glad to."

"Our Keeper believes your shield is the only thing that prevented Tamlen from suffering a similar fate." Lyna shuddered just thinking about it. To lose him…

"Some might call me foolhardy for that," she mused dryly.

Lyna frowned. "Then it is they who would be the fools." She shifted slightly, uncomfortable as she tried to think of anything to fill the silence that descended between them. She'd never been around flat ears of shemlens much, though these particular ones didn't seem as bad. They even seemed to know a little about her people and the lost culture of the elves. What did they speak of in these moments?

"Do you think you could do me a favor?" Azalia sat up, scratching the back of her head sheepishly. Were it not for the slight hunching over, Lyna probably wouldn't have been able to even guess she was in pain. "These robes…I _hate _them. I don't suppose you have an extra set of the ones your Keeper and her apprentice wears…?"

Lyna stared at her a long moment before laughing. "I think we can manage something…"

_

* * *

Kill…you want to kill. Yes, yes…kill them all._

Azalia grabbed her arm hard enough to draw blood, her fingers twitching. Jesus, did it ever shut up? The voice was driving her crazy. It got harder to ignore it when she got irritated or annoyed, though the change in wardrobe had actually helped. It was _so_ much more comfortable. Why didn't the circle have the shorter length robes? She felt so _free_.

She didn't feel as sick this morning either, which was something. No fainting under the sun today, which was a blessing. She was in enough pain as it was. Her body ached, the voice kept getting _louder_, and even Duncan was casting her glances as if he expected her to snap at any moment and kill them all.

_Just a half day journey,_ Azalia reminded herself, shaking her head.

"Goddess watch over you, da'len," she heard the Keeper whispering as Lyna said her goodbyes. She felt rather bad for not telling her it wasn't necessary, but it was a matter of pride. Azalia could understand that. Her father had even once explained it to her…how it was shameful for a Dalish to allow a life debt to not be repaid. Still, watching her say goodbye to that hunter friend of hers, Tamlen, broke her heart. The misery in his face was palpable.

Or was that just the pain of the taint? Hard to say.

They both just stood there, silent for several minutes, his hands holding hers so tightly she was surprised they didn't break. Tamlen's mouth opened and closed, his breathing still a bit labored, but Lyna eventually just leaned forward and kissed his cheek, a sad smile on her lips as she pulled away before she turned to join them with her small bag of things and her bow.

None of them spoke until they were well out of the Brecillian Passage, the forest only a distant shadow on the horizon. The elf didn't turn and look back once, her head held high and whatever sadness she had buried under a multitude of other emotions Azalia couldn't read.

"We should arrive at Ostagar in two or three hours now," Duncan told them all as he passed out lunch. "Normally, I would wait, but it seems we can not in your case, Azalia. We will have you perform the joining once we arrive."

"That's…fine." She grimaced as a sharp pain lanced through her gut, nearly making her spill the stew that was her lunch.

No one said anything after that, though she did notice Duncan had picked up the pace.

Eventually, they all saw the grand white ruins in the distance, the tower she could see almost seeming to reach the sky. It reminded her slightly of the Circle Tower, though it was at least less creepy looking then her former prison. As soon as the guard outside the large wooden gates saw them, he shouted something and they opened for them, beckoning them inside.

"Welcome," Duncan said with a small smile, "to Ostagar."

**

* * *

A/N: **_And…we finally reach Ostagar. Obviously, I've really taken liberties with the origin stories of the mage and the Dalish elf. I like to think it could be possible, though. Plus, I like Tamlen too much to let him die. As for why Elena and Lyna didn't suffer the taint…they were too far away._

_Anyway, I see people are at least reading this, which makes me happy, though I do admit to being disappointed in the lack of feedback. Only one review? Really? Makes me sad. I can't make this story better without feedback, after all, so go! Click the button and review!_


	4. The Mages Didn't Make Enough

**Chapter Four**

_The Mages Didn't Make Enough _

_

* * *

_

What have I done?

Lyna stared around the camp, irritated as she stormed away from that pig of a shemlen. How could her kin stand it? To be treated with such blatant…disrespect! It was maddening.

The dog, Lethallin, whined at her as he trailed behind. Without thinking, she absently scratched his head and fed him a piece of dried meat she always kept in her pack for emergencies. The girl, Elena, was off in the Wilds doing some Warden ritual, as she understood it, and had left the Mabari in her care. Not that she minded…Lyna wondered, vaguely, if the girl knew what the word 'lethallin' meant to her people. It wouldn't surprise her, really. She and Azalia seemed to be on friendly terms and the mage had already displayed at least _some_ knowledge of her heritage. There were times she even spoke like she was one of the Dalish.

"At least you are bearable," she told the dog as she found a secluded spot on the other side of the bridge where they'd entered. Staring at the view of the Wilds it afforded her, she sat down and shifted slightly only when Lethallin sat on his haunches right beside her, ever vigilant. Stroking the dog's coat, Lyna sighed and leaned her head against his tiredly. "Perhaps I should speak with Keeper Marethari about getting one or two of your kind whenever I go back." _Whenever that will be._ "You are quite intelligent, aren't you?"

He barked once, licking her cheek before snuggling closer, though his gaze stayed routed on the forest where he knew his master was.

Lyna smiled slightly. She had her wolf summon, of course. With a few gestures of her hand and a brief puff of blue smoke, her wolf's golden eyes stared at her calmly with an almost curious expression on her face as she gazed up imperiously at the Mabari next to her.

She left the two to their staring contest, instead staring to the east where barely any trace of _her_ forest could be seen. She missed home already with a yearning that pressed against her chest so hard she could hardly breathe at times. But a life debt she would repay to the mage as promised – her own _and_ Tamlen's…even if he _was_ furious with her. He hadn't wanted her to go – not alone.

_Goddess protect me so that I may return to his side,_ she thought, her eyes closed as she prayed to Mythal. She knew of Blights…she also knew that they were not easily ended and could take _years_ to squash. Lyna couldn't say she'd ever really seen a darkspawn before, though she'd caught a glimpse of the corpse of one that the shemlen man had been showing the others in camp. They were horrid, ugly abominations, though they seemed to possess flesh and bone as any other. If a blade could pierce them, so could her arrows, and she was a fierce Dalish hunter. Hunters feared nothing that could be felled by the steel of their blades or the tips of their arrows.

Even so, the disquiet in her heart would not rest.

She didn't trust shemlens…let alone trust a battle plan created by one. They knew nothing of honor or loyalty and betrayed those who trusted them at the drop of a hat, as far as she could see. Being unfamiliar with the area as she was, Lyna stood, her wolf and Lethallin trailing after her as she strode purposefully back towards the camp.

Duncan was, fortunately, right where she'd seen him last, staring thoughtfully into the blazing fire beside him. He turned when he saw her coming, nodding with a small smile. "Ah…Lyna, was it? What can I do for you?"

"I wish to see the battleground." Surely it couldn't be that surprising? Not enough to warrant such a look. "I presume I shall be helping you fight, yes?"

"Would you indulge me if I asked why?"

Lyna narrowed her eyes, considering. He didn't seem to be anything other then curious, to her eyes. "I wish to get to know the land." Lower in tone, because even _she_ knew enough to know not to say such things loudly in a camp full of shemlen, "I wish to take in escape routes and such in case it should be necessary. I do not trust your tactician…the shemlen who makes your plans."

"The Teyrn is a great war hero," Duncan told her, though Lyna noticed he didn't disagree. He didn't even seem shocked by anything she said, furthering her suspicions that she should definitely have a few plans of her own. Always wise, Junar had once told her, to see all paths out of a forest instead of just one. Just in case. "You will need a writ of passage to exit the camp, but…" Grabbing a piece of vellum, he wrote something on it for a few moments before handing it to her with a small smile. "Just hand it to guard. I would suggest coming back before sundown, however. The Wilds are not a safe place."

Lyna nodded, though she gave Duncan a curious look. He wasn't bad, for a shemlen, but he confused her. "Why…?"

"Better to see all paths out of a forest instead of just one, yes?" He chuckled deeply. "A friend once told me such. A Dalish, like yourself. Wiser advice I've never been given." That said, he turned around to stare at something in the flames she could not see, and Lyna left to go scouting as she'd wanted.

_Not bad…for a shem._ She sighed audibly. _Did nothing to quell the disquiet in me, however._

* * *

Elena liked to think of herself as a sympathetic sort of girl. She'd always given a few silvers to the needy and had frequently visited the alienage in Highever whenever possible – admittedly, it'd been infrequent since escaping unnoticed had always been difficult, but she'd managed – to do whatever it was she could to make their lives even the tiniest bit better.

If she had to listen to Ser Jory whine and fret one more time, however, even Elena didn't know what she was liable to do.

Azalia's pain had only gotten worse as they'd trudged through the Korcari Wilds, sometimes to the point where she had to stop and take a second because it knocked the breath out of her. Alistair, the cheeky Warden accompanying them all, had only shaken his head sadly and told them the quicker they finished this, the sooner her pain would stop. It offered Elena little comfort, however, every time her friend's face twisted in agony.

The knight from Redcliffe went on and on with his fretting, however…and Elena's already thin patience was seriously in danger of breaking. She understood his concern – she really did – but could he not _shut up?_

They returned to Duncan just as the last remnants of light faded from the sky, casting an eerie blanket over the camp as night fell. He nodded, pleased as they handed him the treaties they'd received from the witch Morrigan and her mother, though he didn't seem particularly bothered by their presence either way. Elena wasn't either, truthfully, but she'd figured she should tell him just in case.

As Duncan handed the viles of darkspawn blood over to one of the mages who came over, he frowned in obvious displeasure at something the mage said before departing and motioned for Alistair to join him a few feet away. As they spoke, she tried not to listen, but in the eerie silence of the camp it was hard not to hear them anyway.

"The mages seem to have only made enough for three to take the joining," Duncan sighed, obviously displeased. "One will have to wait until after the battle to join. The mage can not wait, Alistair. You have seen them; who else should?"

"If we wait any longer I think Ser Jory might run for the hills, crying to his mother," Alistair whispered back. "I think he might be best to wait…it'll give him time to reconsider."

"His skills would be valuable, though," Duncan sighed. "I would prefer it be between Daveth and Elena, though both are good candidates as well…"

She couldn't help it; Azalia was making that face again as if someone were twisting her insides with a knife and the knight looked as if he would complain again, spurring Daveth to snipe at him again, so Elena tossed propriety to the wind and walked over, motioning to the three of them. "Have them do it. I can wait. Just…please. She's getting worse."

Both Duncan and Alistair shared a look before nodding. "Very well." Duncan set a hand on her shoulder, smiling slightly. "Perhaps you would like to join Lyna? I believe she and your dog are enjoying some dinner. When the battle is over, we will have you take the Joining as well."

Elena nodded once, and she registered a small hint of respect flash in Alistair's eyes when he smiled at her before she turned away, pausing once only to wish Azalia luck.

Despite her pain, the confusion on her face was obvious. "You will not be taking it too?"

"After the battle," she told her, smiling. "Don't worry. I'll be with Lyna and Lethallin when it's over."

Reluctantly, Azalia nodded and left with the rest of them.

Sighing once they were out of sight, Elena dropped by the kennels to give the handler the flower for the Mabari and snuck over to retrieve the stash from the Circle of Magi's trunk, vaguely wondering what happened to the prisoner when she saw he was no longer in the cages.

It took quite awhile to actually track Lyna down once she was all done, mostly because all elves seemed to look the same to everyone. Elena had to bite her tongue a few times before the guard who'd so helpfully told her about Ostagar earlier said she was across the bridge, eating alone.

Sitting on one of the many elevated archer's platforms, her bare feet dangled over the edge while Lethallin sat eagerly below, hoping for scraps. When he saw her, however, he bounded over with a yip and tackled her in an exuberant greeting.

"They didn't make enough," she chuckled with a shrug at the elf's curious glance. "I'll just have to wait a little longer before I become a Grey Warden."

Elena doubted Lyna cared much, but she nodded slightly anyway as if it explained everything, nibbling on what looked like chicken before tossing the bones carelessly to the ground for Lethallin. Not that they ever particularly _touched_ said ground. Most disappeared in midair.

They sat in a peaceful silence, her eating and Elena scratching Lethallin behind his ears, before Azalia came running across the bridge, grinning and looking _much_ healthier.

"The Joining is done?"

"The Order's newest Grey Warden, at your service!" Azalia did a jaunty bow, her grin threatening to split her face. Less cheerfully, she said, "Daveth and Ser Jory didn't make it."

Elena didn't ask what she meant by 'didn't make it'. She suspected it didn't just mean they'd be moping around camp though. Alistair had slipped a few times when they spoke, speaking as if…well, as if some of them wouldn't survive the Joining to become Wardens. As it was, she was just grateful Azalia seemed fine and in no visible pain.

"Duncan is looking for you both," she said, and her smile slipped back onto her face. "He wants to let you know where you'll be during the fighting."

_I did tell Fergus I wished I could come fight with him here,_ Elena mused as nerves made her hands start twitching. _Too bad he doesn't even realize I will._ Glancing at Lyna, the elf only nodded and jumped to the ground, graceful as a swan but looking as lethal as any predator that stalked Thedas.

Sighing, Elena checked her own weapons were all in place before trailing after them, Lethallin pressed comfortingly into her leg. _Maker watch over us._

_

* * *

_

Darkspawn.

Azalia's lip curled in disgust as she saw the evil things, several genlocks overpowering one of the tower's guards before any of them could get there. _So much for this being an easy job._ Still, she stayed back while Alistair and the other two tower guards who'd joined them charged forward, blades hacking through the darkspawn with well aimed precision.

"Down you go!" Alistair yelled when he killed another of them, making Azalia almost lose her concentration and laugh. He was, admittedly, not her favorite person on first meeting, but it was hard not to be amused by his easy humor and sarcasm.

_Or his really blatant attempts to flirt with your friends._ Even through the haze of her pain, she'd seen the looks he would give Elena's back in the Korcari Wilds once they finished fighting some darkspawn – an awed, quite interested look as she'd dispatched darkspawn as easily as any of them. Her fluid style of fighting was admittedly amazing to watch, yes, but the blush on his face when he'd noticed she'd seen him staring had given him away. Badly.

The stuttering hadn't helped matters, either.

"What are darkspawn doing in the tower?" Alistair said in hushed tones as the hit the Tower of Ishal's second level. "They weren't supposed to be here!"

"I thought you said you wanted to fight?" Azalia taunted back, smirking at the look that crossed the templar's face.

"Hey…you're right. I guess there's a silver-lining for everything." He even grinned, briefly, before he said more seriously, "In any case, we must hurry. Teyrn Loghain will be waiting for our signal."

More and more darkspawn greeted them as they made their way to the top level of the tower, sometimes swarming them so much Azalia had to resort to fighting up close herself. Iron was perhaps the weakest of staffs, though. Any hit only dazed the darkspawn at best, requiring she hit them at least three more times before they went down for good. It was during those fights that the two guards often passed out, unable to be healed until only she and Alistair could deal with the rest. _That_ was always unpleasant and generally took longer then either of them liked.

"I need a better staff," she panted once they'd finally reached the room where the door to the tower's top floor was. The tip of her staff was bending slightly from all the hitting she was using it to do as well. _So much for it being good quality iron._

"We'll add it to the things to do if we get out of here alive," Alistair joked. "I'm sensing trouble on the top floor; we ready?"

Azalia finished tending to the last of the injuries and downed a lyrium potion to restore her reserves, tossing the empty flask behind her so that it shattered harmlessly on the floor. She felt a little…giggly…but she wasn't addled. Not yet, anyway. She could drink at least two more before the lyrium went to her head and made her useless.

They all charged up the stairs at a run, almost breaking through the top floor door in their haste, though they all skidded to a stop as they saw what was waiting for them.

She'd never seen an ogre before…just drawings in a copy of _"The Creatures of Thedas" _that the Circle's library had. They were uglier then the drawings had shown and _nothing_ could've prepared her for the stench of its breath when it roared at them and started charging, the ground shaking with every monstrous step.

Azalia found a nice, out of the way spot and fired bolt after bolt of energy at the thing, though soon she had to resort to purely healing as one hit from the ogre seemed to knock nearly all the life out of his targets. Nothing even seemed to injure it. She cast a frost spell, wondering if magic might help, but she almost immediately regretted it.

The ogre twitched, shaking the remnants of ice off before it whirled and roared, knocking the others off their feet and _staring right at her._ Azalia cursed, quite vehemanantly, and _ran_ as it charged after her.

"Don't _run!"_ Alistair shouted after her. She could hear the clanging of his splintmail as he tried to catch up to them. "You're not supposed to run!"

"Well playing dead is not going to work with this one, I think!" she shouted right back, jumping with an inexcusably girly 'eep' to avoid the ogre's fist that came swooping down low to knock her feet from under her. "You think swooping is bad? Flying through the air is _worse!"_

Azalia ran several circles around the floor, the three warriors clanging tiredly behind the tire_less_ ogre like little ducklings, before a remnant of an idea even came to her. She did a burst of speed to get a little distance before whirling quickly, the cone of cold spell blasting from her hands as the ogre swung its hands for her.

He froze mid-motion, those fists _inches_ from her head, and Azalia sighed in relief before darting out of the way. The spell would last ten seconds at most, but by then Alistair and the others could hopefully grab its attention again.

It seemed like an eternity before the massive creature actually stumbled, giving the opening Alistair needed. The templar leapt into the air, shield in front of him and blade pulled back before he impaled it into the ogre's neck, blood spraying as the thing fell back and landed with a heavy thud.

_Elena would've loved to see that,_ Azalia thought inanely, sitting down on a nearby crate. "_Finally."_ Her legs protested even minimal movement, unused to so much running and reminding her just how much she would have to train. She needed those muscles in her arms and legs again; maybe even some training with using her staff to fight. Either that or she'd need to find some blades that could channel magic; they existed, though in Ferelden such things were rare. Such weapons were more common in Tevinter, from what she remembered. Her memory of blade training was passable though compared to using a staff, albeit rusty from lack of practice.

Alistair tossed a torch into the beacon and sighed as the tinder lit up in brilliant flames, "I could eat an entire cow right now…"

This was, of course, seconds before the tower's door was broken right off its hinges and darkspawn filled the upper floors.

It all happened so fast she didn't even have time to shoot off a spell. The arrow pierced her neck with such force Azalia fell backwards off the crates and gasped. Her vision faded, _something_ shrieked in her head, as if it was calling to her, and she only briefly saw Alistair take a few hits as well, overtaken by the darkspawn.

She passed out before his body even hit the floor.

* * *

Battle wasn't foreign to Lyna; she'd seen her share of fights in life, although not quite as grand scale as this one, perhaps. Her targets generally weren't so…massive, either. While taking a hit to her chest from an ogre's fist had wounded her pride more then inflicted any physical damage thanks to the healing magic of the nearby mage, it was enough for her to realize she would have to change tactics, somewhat.

While she was quite capable in close combat, Lyna didn't like using blades unless she had people she trusted at her back. Multi-tasking between offense and defense was difficult for her; she usually had to do one or the other and trust in Tamlen or Fenarel to watch her back. But they weren't here, she thought listlessly for the umpteenth time since the battle had begun. They were still with the clan, moving north and away from the Blight.

Elena Cousland, the shemlen who was apparently rather high up in their hierarchy from all accounts, was fighting nearby with her own dual blades and making blood arch in the air with every swing. Lyna had a small respect for her, even, though her handling of a bow was embarrassing at best. Most darkspawn fell to her blade with one strike, however, though two more only took their place even before the beast fell.

_Protect her._ The flat-ear mage's words echoed in her head; her request before joining the other Warden in their own task. Something about a tower? Lyna rather wished she'd paid a bit more attention to what that silly shemlen had been grumbling about. _She must live. Promise you will do this for me._

_A promise is a promise. _Rather purposefully, she kept close to Elena, forgoing her bow altogether; it was all but useless in melee combat, after all. She didn't like that the darkspawn creatures were managing to back them up against the ruin walls, effectively trapping them. As subtly as she could, Lyna migrated both her and Elena closer towards the forest's edges and away from such a potential disaster. If they had to make a break for it, they had at least three escape routes from here that she'd managed to scout out. While running from any fight irked her pride, Lyna knew better then anyone the value of picking her fights _wisely._

One could not defeat her enemies when _dead_ after all.

"The beacon's been lit!" some nearby soldier shouted, relief obvious in his tone. Lyna glanced quickly towards the tower, the blazing fire quite obvious all the way to Orlais, probably. Its lighting seemed to rejuvenate the soldiers around her, relieved that reinforcement's would now come and allow them to squash the darkspawn numbers from both sides as planned.

Only…no one came.

The despair was thick in the air; confusion, betrayal for those who were quicker to catch on, and the stifling feeling of resignation as five, then ten, then twenty minutes passed. Lyna wasn't surprised; she'd suspected this might happen. She had no intention of dying here, either.

"To the forests!" she shouted. Under normal circumstances, she was sure none of the warriors present would've listened to her. The shemlens were so desperate though – so in need of direction – that barely a handful even bothered to stare at her in obvious distaste. Most simply followed her as she moved, dragging a cursing Elena who was spitting nails and cursing the Teyrn in a tongue Lyna was unfamiliar with. Lethallin trotted beside her, occasionally darting forward to tackle a stray darkspawn that got in their way.

She led the shemlens deep into the Wilds, ears twitching as she strained to listen. She could hear others stomping through the forests, obviously getting the same idea of retreating, but she heard the quieter whispers of men slinking through the marshes and trees, their pace languid and in no hurry. Lyna suspected it was the Teyrn's men, but saying so to the shemlens behind her would serve no purpose other then to rile them needlessly.

She didn't stop until they were deep into the Wilds near one of its many bodies of water, though this one seemed somehow cleaner then most. Not tainted, yet, by the darkspawn filth. The shemlens who'd followed her dove at it greedily, faces dripping with it as they drank and, once quenched of thirst, cleaned themselves. Even the dog took a running leap into a nearby puddle, whining happily as he rinsed himself clean.

Lyna did a cursory rinse of herself to clean off the blood and drank a few handfuls before climbing into a nearby tree, standing at the highest branch she could find to look out. A village stood to the far north, still maybe a day's walk away; that seemed as good a place as any to drop them all off. She had absolutely no intention of _traveling_ with so many of them, after all.

Pulling the thin vial of blood that hung on a leather cord around her neck from under her light armor, Lyna stared at it almost ruefully. The mage yet lived. Had she perished, the vial's contents would've disappeared. It was old elven magic that only Keepers knew these days and was used only in the cases of life debts and such – and just for this reason. Ignorance was no excuse, in their ways, for leaving a debt unsettled.

The only question, now, was where she was.

Had she a bit of magic, Lyna could figure it out, but she had no idea. All she knew was that the blood would get brighter – fresher looking – when she was within a certain distance from her. Looking at it, the liquid was somewhere between fresh and old – in the forests, then. At least one Grey Warden had survived, then. With Mythal's blessing, others did as well. Ending a Blight and thus settling her debt to the mage with just her as the sole surviving Warden would be…difficult.

Satisfied once a plan of action was in her head, Lyna went to find Elena who was oddly quiet, now that she wasn't spitting angry. It was, perhaps, a wild guess on her part, but Lyna had a feeling she knew what plagued her mind and caused such a disparaged expression. "The mage yet lives," she told her, and Elena's shift in expression confirmed that her suspicions had been right.

The girl's expression fell somewhat when she showed her the vial. "Is that…_blood?_"

"If the mage were dead, it would vanish," she explained. "It will appear fresher the closer we are to its owner. It is an old ritual of the elvhen when one owes a life debt."

"Sounds like what the templars do to track apostates and maleficar," she mused.

Lyna snorted disdainfully. "Where do you think your chantry picked up their trick in the first place?" She let the vial fall back under her armor, safely hidden. "We make way to a town north of here, then to find the mage." She glanced down, taking in the already impressive swelling along Elena's left calf. "Perhaps you can have that treated."

"What?" Surprised, the girl looked down, and widened her eyes. "Oh. I didn't even feel it…"

_This will be a long night._ With a sigh, Lyna settled herself in the trees again once the girl wandered off to deal with her injury, albeit lower to the ground while others found semi-comfortable places to sleep as well. They had no tents or anything soft to speak of to sleep on, but that had never stopped a warrior from getting a few hours of well deserved rest – none worth thinking about, anyway. As she drifted off, Lyna's only thought was, _Tamlen would laugh himself sick to see me right now._

* * *

An hour after waking with her head feeling like it had been split open but no obvious sign of injury to her body otherwise, Azalia tried – and failed – to recall if any of her studies had shown her how to turn people into toads…or marsh bunnies.

By themselves, she enjoyed Alistair and Morrigan's company. Alistair was her brother in arms now and had a sense of humor that generally never failed to lift her spirits despite her constant worries. Aside from a few brief lapses while they spoke of Duncan, he'd remained in relative good spirits, though the loss of the rest of their order was a horrible blow to him. She could sympathize, though she hadn't even known any of the others except Duncan.

"Have you ever lost someone important to you?" he'd asked her at one point.

She had to close her eyes to bar the tears, images of her parent's faces in her mind. Her father's face that had always remained young even despite his time around humans and stern set of his lips was the most vivid to her. Damyan Vindahl, she remembered with a sad smile. That was her family's name…Vindahl. She'd actually forgotten it at some point over the years.

Her mother's face was hazier, not as distinct, but she did remember the ethereal paleness of her blond hair and the soft but firm tones Udia had always spoken with. Hadn't Elena once said she'd had her eyes, too? Elven blue, Fergus had once jokingly told her. Humans never had eyes her particular shade of blue. They were bright, clear, and vivid with an almost piercing quality when met head on.

Her expression as she recalled their faces said it all since Alistair had only nodded in understanding when she'd simply said, "Something like that."

Morrigan, on the other hand…Azalia had to think of her as an Everoot. It was a spice native to the lands around Highever that not many used when cooking, mostly because of its unique flavor that was something of an acquired taste. She, personally, didn't mind it so much and Morrigan was very much an _acquired taste._ She was ruthlessly practical and very black-and-white with a demeanor that made it very hard to get to know her, but the wealth of magical knowledge in her head superseded all the other off-putting stuff about her…at least to Azalia. It made her practically giddy when Morrigan tossed out a tidbit she didn't know of, very much aware that it showed and even caused the witch to chuckle a few times. She was much more open about sharing her knowledge of natural poisons and such, however.

Ironically, Everoot was apparently much more popular around Thedas as an ingredient for a particularly lethal poison.

Place the two of them together, however, and Azalia's patience was in danger of seriously wearing thin.

"I…_hate you,"_ Morrigan hissed after Alistair made a comment suggesting a similarity in appearance between her and Flemeth, to which the templar only laughed.

"You _do_ realize she is likely to turn you into a toad in your sleep," Azalia confided when he fell into step beside her.

Alistair didn't look particularly concerned. "You know, I thought that, but I actually _was_ paying attention when you said mages didn't have spells like that, you know."

"_Circle_ mages," she stressed, grinning when his expression faltered. "I was more curious then most, but I was still Circle trained. Who can say _what_ Morrigan knows? She was trained by _Flemeth."_

Suitably paranoid now that he had _that_ to ruminate on, Alistair spent the remainder of their walk towards Lothering keeping a trained eye on Morrigan. At one point the witch even joined her up front and instigated a conversation, though it was more to settle her curiosity then to actually be friendly.

"I have a wonder," she began as a bridge came into view in the far distance. Off to the side of the road, a shoddy wooden sign for Lothering confirmed it was right up ahead. "You are a mage of the Circle, yet…" Morrigan eyed her robes and hands somewhat pointedly. "Your spells seem more similar to my own then anything the sycophants of the tower would dare teach."

Azalia actually laughed at that. "I was more curious then most," was all she would tell her. "And I liked to read. A lot. Especially the books from Tevinter."

"Bandits ahead," Alistair warned them, interrupting whatever Morrigan had planned to say to that.

She withdrew her staff from behind her without thinking, eyes narrowing. There were maybe half a dozen of them and they seemed to be on the verge of attacking two refugees that were up ahead.

Sure enough, one bandit let out a battle cry…though it was short lived seeing as his head went flying through the air seconds later. Eyes narrowed, relief surged through her as Azalia recognized a familiar dog lunge at the leader, knocking him to the ground as he went for the jugular. After she'd awoken, she hadn't been able to bring herself to even dare hope…but it was them, alright. She'd recognize Elena's one-strike-kill fighting style anywhere.

"Elena!"

Both women ahead whirled, though Lyna seemed a bit jumpy as she shot an arrow straight at her before she'd even registered who it was. Azalia ducked before it could actually hit her, though, and the shaft slammed into a tree trunk behind her, vibrating from the impact.

Relief was quickly replaced by irritation. "Is that a common greeting style among the Dalish? Huh? This is the second time you've nearly run my head through with an arrow!"

Lyna seemed to consider it for a moment. "Sort of, yes. Fenarel, Tamlen, and I often greeted each other similarly."

Azalia rolled her eyes, hugging Elena when her friend embraced her with a relieved sigh. "I'm glad to see you made it out."

"Barely." Elena was practically spitting as she relayed their escape. To be honest, Azalia wasn't even surprised that Lyna had been the one to lead them from the field. She'd actually counted on her natural distrust of humans in case anything had gone wrong.

"That's good, at least," Alistair sighed when he heard at least a dozen men had escaped with them.

"I wouldn't be too relieved," Lyna pointed out. "The Teyrn's men stumbled upon our camp and slaughtered them during the night. No one but us survived."

"No witnesses," Morrigan said with a nod. "Tis' a most practical response."

Azalia had to pinch Alistair on the side before he could snap at the witch. "Well this can't get much worse…"

Elena's expression said otherwise. "There's…more." Pulling something from her pack, Azalia eyed the parchment curiously as she unfurled it.

She damn near burned it by the time she and Alistair, who'd read it over her shoulder, finished it.

"We're _WHAT!"_

Morrigan took the parchment before she could set it on fire in her anger, reading it calmly and smirking ever so slightly in amusement. "My, but you do have interesting enemies. Grey Wardens, wanted for regicide and treason. Quite a hefty sum, too, though I personally have little use for such things."

"We shouldn't stay in Lothering too long," Elena cautioned, eyeing Morrigan in unabashed curiosity. "It won't be safe."

Lyna nodded her head in agreement. "I would be unsurprised if some of the shemlen's men await us in the village." She looked out at the shoddy village in ill disguised distaste.

"I suppose we can look on the bright side," Azalia muttered.

Alistair looked at her as if she were insane. "What bright side? We're wanted for treason and King Cailan's _murder!"_

She shot him a dark look. "Shout that a bit louder, will you? I don't think Rivain heard you." Fingers twitching, she motioned vaguely at nothing in particular with her arms. "Look at it this way, Alistair. How could this _possibly_ get any worse?"

"Things can only get better," Elena agreed, smiling slightly when he only groaned.

Lyna just had to ruin it. "Unless the archdemon comes swooping down upon us."

Azalia groaned. Alright, so it still _could _possibly get worse. She shuddered just thinking about it. "Let's just _go._ Sooner we leave this place the _better._" Making her way down the steps, she took in the full view of Lothering and sighed. Injured refugees were everywhere, some shooting them dark looks when they saw their weapons.

_Lothering; pretty as a picture. Lovely._

_**

* * *

**_

A/N:

_And so the fun gets to begin. Azalia is a Warden along with Alistair, Lyna is STILL as paranoid as ever (and rightly so), and Elena is…well, Elena. Now that the background stuff is out of the way, I can start to branch out more._

_Looking at my stats, obviously people are reading this, to which I am glad. I'm sad, however, that I don't get much in the way of feedback. In no way do I believe this story is perfect. For those who HAVE bothered to give me their honest opinions thus far, I thank you and hope you will continue to do so. It helps immensely – especially if you catch any errors in wording._

_As a side note, I have a poll I'd like to put out there…make this experience more interactive, I guess? There are several points in the story I've been mulling in my head. Given the additional two origins that were added in, it makes the party rather big. I've already decided Shale is unlikely to appear (which is best as I've never gotten her before as a companion), but should some of the others be left out? Leliana is most certainly coming along, as will Zevran (ah, but I have fun plans for him and my favorite mage) and Oghren just because he ROCKS. Which brings me to my questions._

_Should I still have Wynne come along with the party? Or Sten?_

_Where should they visit first after Lothering?_

_Click the review button and let me know what you think!_


	5. The Most Peculiar Luck

**Chapter Five**

_The Most Peculiar Luck_

* * *

It was towns like these, Elena mused, that made Ferelden such a laughing stock in the other nations. Lothering had to be the poorest village in the Bannorn, she realized, or the home of the laziest Bann she'd ever seen. Who was even the Bann _in_ this area? No one she knew.

Instinctually, she stuck close to Alistair as they both headed off for the Chantry. Both mages and Lyna adamantly refused to step foot into it, though Azalia had at least admitted it might be a good idea to stop by and find out what's been going on. They would scout out a place to sleep if they could and get supplies.

"Absolutely charming, isn't it?" Alistair muttered to her dryly, motioning widely with one hand as they entered the Chantry. Refugees and injured soldier lay everywhere, the stench of death clinging to the place of prayer like a cloud. Elena had never known death actually had a _stench_ until that night of her family's murder. Grasping Alistair's arm tighter, she knew her expression was pinched as they spoke to the head of the templars, Ser Bryant, and even ran into Ser Donall, an acquaintance of Alistair's from Redcliffe who gave them even worse news.

"Arl Eamon is _ill_?" Elena blanched, her hopes dropping. She'd met Eamon a handful of times at best; he was one of the better nobles she knew. Jokingly, Fergus had once said he shared his fascination for foreign women – a statement not altogether false considering he'd married an Orlesian woman and stirred up quite a fuss. Elena had never met the Arlessa, though Oriana had…once. It was all Fergus could do to prevent his beloved wife from slipping poison into the woman's food the next time they met and spoke volumes about her, seeing as Elena had never known Oriana to be easily agitated into such a state.

Ser Donall nodded. "Not even magic has cured him; the Arlessa believes our only hope is the Urn of Sacred Ashes, said to cure even the most fatal of diseases."

She knew the legend – she also knew it was a myth, at best. Looking at her companion, her heart went out to him as she saw Alistair's worried expression. _He may die before we even arrive at Redcliffe,_ she rationalized.

After handing him the note and locket of the templar they'd found near the bandits, Ser Donall left, leaving Alistair with a vaguely haunted expression as he stared straight ahead. News of the arl's illness was obviously upsetting him.

"Alistair…"

"I'm fine." Shaking his head like a dog out of water, he grinned at her. "I'm good. We should talk to the Reverend Mother."

_You are NOT fine._ Elena didn't say so, however, and half wondered with irritation why the Reverend Mother was just _sitting_ there when so many outside in the Chantry needed help. Heck, even a prayer would help lift some of their spirits. _Father would be furious if he saw this,_ Elena noted, her chest tightening when she thought of her father. Andraste's breathe, but it hurt to think of him or her mother…though her grief at least didn't paralyze her anymore. It couldn't.

Unsurprisingly, the Reverend Mother had nothing of interest to say other then to mention a tithe that Alistair obediently donated. Lothering obviously needed it and it wasn't as if they were hurting for money at the moment. Elena figured they had about seven sovereigns between them after selling and trading all that junk with that opportunist of a merchant.

"Let's go find them before anything bad happens," Alistair suggested once they stepped outside. "We've been about twenty minutes and…" He made vague motions with his hand.

Elena couldn't help but laugh. "Azalia does have the most peculiar luck at finding herself in trouble. I think they mentioned going to the local tavern…"

The building itself was just over the bridge, a few men outside gossiping, but both she and Alistair froze when they heard the very distinct sound of fighting inside. Glancing at each other, they swore as one and barged through the doors, hands on their weapons.

* * *

"Run back to your false king and tell him this; we know the truth of what he's done and he will pay." Azalia gave a solid kick as one of Loghain's men ran by her, laughing as the same man – the captain – got an arrow right in the ass from Lyna who was looking far too amused with herself. Not that she blamed her. Lethallin looked downright proud as he wagged his tail and growled at one who was taking too long to leave. Even Morrigan looked pretty upbeat, though she seemed slightly disapproving that they hadn't just killed them outright.

"It's a game of politics," was all Azalia could sigh. Politics annoyed her, though she was at least familiar with them in passing because of Teyrn Cousland. He'd always vented – loudly – about politics in Ferelden when he thought no one could hear and Azalia had always had keener-then-normal hearing. Things changed in ten years, though. Somewhat, anyway. "Playing by the rules makes crushing them even better."

This seemed to satisfy the witch who nodded, though she was still of the opinion killing them would've been better. Azalia couldn't even disagree with that.

Turning back to their unlikely source of assistance, Azalia dipped her head slightly. "Thank you for what you tried to do, sister." Seeing the blood splattered all over the chantry robes of the woman who'd tried to help them was somehow…amusing. Fitting, even. "It wasn't the wisest idea, though."

She waved a hand at her, unbothered. In a heavily Orlesian-accented voice, she smiled and said, "I think not. You are Grey Wardens, yes? I am Leliana, a lay sister of the Chantry here in Lothering. You are trying to stop the Blight, yes?"

Azalia narrowed her eyes, though she nodded. "Yes…what of it?"

If anything, Leliana's smile got brighter. "I thought so. That's why I've decided I'm coming with you!"

Both Lyna and Morrigan didn't bother to hide their snorts.

Azalia only half listened as the sister spoke of some vision, instead replaying the fight in her mind. Chantry sister or not, she moved and fought like someone who'd had training of some kind. A rogue's training, if she wasn't mistaken. She'd moved as if she were dancing, each strike flowing right into the next. Leliana was obviously quite familiar with wielding a dagger, at the very least, and she _did_ want to help…help they were going to be quite hard-pressed to find…

"OK," Azalia grinned. "You can come."

Lyna actually did a double-take as she was mid-spin towards the door. "What?"

"Perhaps you hit your head harder then mother thought…" Morrigan said dryly, obviously convinced of this. Azalia ignored them both, grinning just as Alistair and Elena came in looking like they were expecting the archdemon to greet them.

"Nobody's dead, are they?" Alistair wondered, obviously partly convinced someone was and that they'd have to hide the body.

Azalia rolled her eyes. Honestly, she didn't go out _looking_ to kill people. What did they take her for? "No. In fact, quite the opposite." She motioned towards Leliana cheerfully. "And we've got some new help!"

The templar looked cheered by the thought, though that was short-lived when Leliana started mentioning her vision again. Even Elena was looking at her like she'd lost her mind by the end of it.

"I thought we were full up on crazy." Alistair whispered to her as they left the tavern after a quick talk with the Blackstone Irregular liaison. _"Visions?"_

"Beggars can't be choosers," she hissed right back. "And she can fight. I saw it. She's no chantry sister I've ever seen."

She said this, of course, right before Morrigan brought the qunari in the cage to their attention. Azalia wasn't sure what expression she had on her face, but she could guess considering Alistair's said he already knew what she was going to say before she even opened her mouth.

"Oh no," he said, shaking his head and arms once Leliana mentioned why he'd been put there. "No. _No._ I'm putting my foot down!"

* * *

"I hate you…"

Lyna snorted as she watched the silly shemlen sulk, eye twitching as he, the crazy shemlen, and Elena returned from the Chantry with the key. The qunari's expression never actually changed as he stepped outside and donned the spare armor they'd picked up, as well as a large greatsword they'd salvaged from the Korcari Wilds. He took a few experimental swings with it before setting it behind him, earning several dark and outright hostile looks from the people nearby. Sten was, at the very least, _quiet_, so Lyna fell into pace behind him at the back of the group, mostly ignoring him as much as he ignored her, eyes rooted straight ahead.

"Heads up!" Elena called from up front, and Lyna narrowed her eyes, aware that several more shemlen were coming up from behind, surrounding them. An ambush? One glance at their weapons and she snorted disdainfully. Their blades would be lucky to cut bread, let alone skin. Did they really think maybe a dozen men would be able to bring them in for the apparent reward money? It was desperation or absolute stupidity – she wasn't even sure which.

_Stupidity,_ she decided when they attacked despite Azalia's attempt to dissuade them. Notching an arrow as she spun on her heel, Lyna shot the arrow straight through the man's heart who'd been charging at her, driving another into a second right through his neck. Seeing no one else aiming for her, Lyna leaned on her bow and waited until the last of the refugees fell to the ground with a groan. It took all of five seconds; none of these men knew the pommel from the pointy end of a dagger, let alone how to properly fight with one.

"Darkspawn!" the silly shemlen shouted suddenly, charging ahead and up the stairs to the bridge leading out of Lothering with Azalia right on his heels. Her lips curled in distaste as she saw them; while she was no Grey Warden, Lyna _really_ disliked these creatures. With deadly accuracy, she shot an arrow into the foot of one of the hurlocks, pinning him to the ground so he couldn't escape when Lethallin lunged at him, massive paws hitting the darkspawn's shoulders and knocking him down so he could tear out his throat.

_I really should get a dog,_ she thought inanely, watching in fascination as Lethallin snarled, blood dripping from his muzzle, before lunging at a gunlock aiming to hit Elena from behind. _They're really quite cute. And Tamlen would hate him._ That thought alone made her laugh loudly as she shot off more arrows, each as skillfully shot as the last and earning her several concerned looks.

It took very little time for them to actually finish off the vile creatures, earning them the gratitude of the durgen'len who'd taken cover behind their wagon of goods. They politely declined, however, to travel with the Grey Wardens when Azalia offered. Too much excitement, they said.

Several hours later when they found a good spot to make camp, however, she noted rather dryly that it wasn't too exciting for them to share a camping space with them. In fact, they seemed quite eager to.

Like the shemlen witch had, Lyna setup her tent farther away from everyone and closer to the protective covering of the trees. It was familiar and comforting, though it also reminded her of younger days when she, Tamlen, and Fenarel had laid back in the cool grass of the forest on clear nights and slept under the stars. They'd also tried to scare each other witless on those excursions, often with interesting and sadly long lasting results. Tamlen never did get over his fear of ghosts…

_I miss them. _She'd grown up with those two idiots. They were all closest in age, Fenarel being only slightly younger then her despite looking the oldest. They'd all come of age within a few months of each other as well; her being, regrettably, the last. They'd all sworn to be great hunters and they were…the best, even, among their clan. Never in a million years would she have guessed she would actually go anywhere without them both at her back.

Yet here she was, alone in a camp of mostly shems and hunting some of the vilest creatures she'd ever had the displeasure of seeing.

_Fenarel would've gotten sick in the grass,_ she mused, imagining his reaction to the creatures. _Tamlen would shriek like a girl, then charge ahead anyway because I'd be halfway through the horde by then. Of course, not wanting to be left out, Fenarel would then race off after us anyway._ Lyna sighed again, her fingers absently caressing the charm she wore around her neck that had been made and given to her by both boys the night after she'd been given her vallaslin. It was a sparkling gold with a silhouette of Andruil, the Goddess whose tattoos marked her skin, on one side while the other had a large and intricate tree that matched the one on the cover of her journal she'd kept when she was younger. Tamlen had been absolutely red-faced when they'd handed it over…

_Damn it._ Lyna turned so no one could see her and blinked away the tears stinging her eyes, annoyed. _I will see them again. It's not as if they're dead. Presuming Tamlen doesn't do something utterly STUPID while I'm gone…_

"Food's ready."

Azalia's voice made Lyna jump, whirling to see her taking a seat near her on a stump, though her face remained pointedly turned away and staring up towards the sky. The attempt at privacy was appreciated, though pointless. With a quick wipe of her hand across her face, Lyna ate the offered food with a nod. "Thank you."

"I hope I did that poor rabbit justice," she lamented with a grin. "I haven't had to cook in ten years."

It was quite good, surprisingly. While Lyna had never minded eating just vegetables, it certainly wasn't her preference.

"We're pretty much right smack in the middle of everywhere we need to go," she prattled on between bites. "Orzammar is the farthest, which Morrigan recommended first before making our way east. Alistair and Elena want to stop by Redcliffe to check on the arl and see what his condition is. We were wondering where the Dalish would go, though, given that the Blight has apparently begun to swallow southern Ferelden. Lothering has already fallen, or so the merchant tells me."

"They would go north," she mused. 'There are several spots far north near the northern base of Dragon's Peak that my clan favors in the winter months because of the warmer climates there. Otherwise most will stay far east of South Reach in the center of the forest."

Azalia stared at her in something akin to surprise. "You know your areas well."

Lyna actually smiled somewhat at that. Once upon a time, the three of them had sworn to travel and see Thedas for themselves. It had seemed like a grand idea at the time and they'd even taught themselves how to read shemlen maps and such. She had no such dreams now, of course, but she still remembered the names of places "I once wanted to travel and remember your names for such locations."

"Much as I would like to see my home, it is best we leave my people for last," she told her after a moment of silence. "They will take the longest to find. Best we get the others out of the way, I think."

She nodded, though something was circulating in Azalia's head that made Lyna follow her gaze. While she certainly wasn't an expert on shemlen mating habits, there was no mistaking the silly shemlen's expression for anything else.

_Cute._ She watched him stammer and blush, reminiscent to what Tamlen usually did if she ever used his name and 'bonding' in the same sentence. _Awkwardness knows no bounds, I guess._

* * *

"_Pick up your sword, Chevalier!"_

_Somewhere in the vicinity of the courtyard, Elena heard her father's deep and rumbling laugh as she and Fergus played out front near the grassy hill outside the castle. 'Knights of Ferelden' was their favorite game to play, reminiscent of the stories their father would secretly tell them of the war with Orlais. It wasn't a topic their mother approved of, but that had never completely stopped father before. Why would it now?_

_With an imperious lift of her nose, Elena grabbed that thick branch that was her 'sword', looking down briefly to frown at her skirts. Maker's breathe, they were going to get in the way. No way was she going to be able to NOT rip them. Out of the corner of her eyes, she could already see Azalia rummaging through her own skirt's pockets for a needle and thread. Even SHE knew it._

_With a heaving sigh only an eight year old girl such as herself could achieve, Elena leapt at her brother with a resounding war cry._

"Elena!"

She jolted up so hard from her bedroll she smashed straight into whoever had called for her, blearily realizing it was Alistair only because of the sandy blonde hair she could see. Belatedly, she realized tears were blurring most of her vision, and Azalia was just behind him at the tent's entrance, worry clear on her face.

"You were screaming in your sleep," she told her, eyes haunted as she admitted, "You were calling for Fergus."

Her chest tightened. She should've been over this part, Elena thought wildly as she tried to take calming breathes and failed miserably. They came in brief bursts, her throat tightening as she let her worry pour out with every tear, her head leaning against Alistair's shoulder without thinking. She remained oblivious to the silent looks Azalia and Alistair shot each other, the latter shifting uncomfortably before he gently placed his arms around her as she cried.

"I'm sorry," he whispered in a soothing tone, obviously unsure. "I know I miss Duncan so much it hurts…he was my mentor for those six months, you know? It's worse when you don't even know. I'm sorry. If we could find him for you…"

"I feel like such a kid," she choked out with her head down more from embarrassment then anything else. The surge of emotions that had gripped her chest and throat were already gone, leaving her mostly mortified at her own lapse in restraint. "I'm eighteen. I shouldn't…I just _miss him_. I miss them all. I want nothing more then to scream bloody murder most days and march straight to Amaranthine and rip Howe's treacherous head from his shoulders with my bare hands!"

"Whoa," Alistair muttered, wide-eyed. "Vicious."

She ignored him. "It's not as bad as before now, but I still…I keep expecting Udia to come kick me out of bed in the mornings because I'm lazy or Celia to be whistling those tunes with Damyan as they work or Vyse to come running with my clothes because I'm running late for whatever thing my mother planned…" Elena's hand fisted and she pounded the ground, leaving a sizable indent that Alistair dumbly stared at in awe. "The rage isn't so bad anymore but _it's still there."_

"I'm sorry?"

It was more question then statement and Elena finally broke from her rant and noticed Alistair looked kind of…scared. Wide-eyed and convinced she was going to transform into some rage demon, maybe…if she hadn't already. Heat surged to her face, turning her face even redder then it already was, and she ducked her head as far as she could in mortification. _Oh, blast it. I did it again._

He practically ran when Azalia called him for something and Elena considered briefly if embarrassment could kill people. Eventually, she figured it couldn't, though she sure felt like it. The last time she'd ranted, she'd done so loudly and in front of several visiting Banns before her father had been able to get her attention – and only because one of them had busted out laughing, unable to contain himself.

"You sure gave Alistair a scare," Azalia laughed when she came in, obviously amused. "He thought you were going to burst from your skin in an explosion of fire and smite him!"

"Very funny." Leaning against her shoulder, Elena sighed tiredly. "I miss Fergus."

Her friend's amusement was still quite clear, though she seemed to subdue somewhat in response. "I know. I remember how close you two always were. Always made me wish I had a sibling more then once."

_Andraste's knickers! I never told her!_ Was it even the right time? Then again, was there _ever_ a right time? "Uh…Azalia? About that…you have two."

She actually froze, turning her head sharply and blinking at her. "What?"

"Two," Elena repeated with a slight grimace as she faced Azalia's expression. "A sister and brother. Celia…she was born 6 months after you were taken. Your dad was going to tell you that day, but…" She waved her hands in a vague gesture.

All things considered, Azalia summed it up quite well anyway. "Shit happened."

"Yeah."

She was stone silent for several beats, obviously trying to digest this bit of news. "And…my brother?"

"Vyse." Elena smiled fondly despite herself. "Smug little brat. Six years old. Celia was…_is_ ten. They both have your mother's fair hair, though Vyse has Damyan's eyes. He reminds me a lot of you, though."

"Smart-mouthed and stubborn?" she laughed, and Elena tried not to notice the tears welling up into her eyes.

"Exactly!" They shared a laugh on that, though it was forced at best. "I'm so sorry. I completely forgot to…and there never seemed to be a right time…"

Azalia just shook her head, smiling bitterly. "There never is. It's alright. I just…wow. I'm a big sister and I never knew." She rubbed her face, sighing into her hands. "What am I doing…?"

_Uh oh._ Elena knew that tone. Azalia was one of the few people she knew who took bad news and recovered quickly, but it always stayed with her, festering until it threatened to swallow her whole. Damyan had been like that too, part of his Dalish nature he said, but when it grabbed hold of him it had always been hell to break him out of. The funk he'd sunk into after Azalia got taken had been the worse, lasting well until Celia had turned two. "You're stopping a Blight," she said, firmly. Rather pointedly, too, and that made her look up so they could lock eyes, the despair in Azalia's obvious. "You're a _Grey Warden._ You can't be moping with an archdemon out there somewhere and a list of allies to gain."

"Right…right. I know, you're right." She shook it off and Elena almost sighed in relief when she saw that unfocused look leave her eyes. She'd have to mention it to Alistair though, if only so he could be prepared. If he'd even stay in the same room as her after her rant, anyway. "Speaking of Grey Wardens…you know Alistair is interested, right?"

The change in topic was a welcome relief and made Elena chuckle. Men seemed to be the default topic when either of them needed to cheer up. "It crossed my mind," she chuckled. "He is rather cute in an awkward, boyish way."

"Try not to play with him too much," Azalia snickered. "He strikes me as the type to get distracted over a girl." As an afterthought, she added, "He's got a nice ass too."

The comment sent Elena into a round of girlish giggles. Shoulders dropping, she leaned over and hugged Azalia tightly. "Maker, I missed you. It's so good to have you around again."

"I plan to be around for awhile," she said with a wry grin. "You're going to miss the silence." Standing, she cracked her neck as she rolled it around and groaned. "Where the hell is that guy when I need him…?"

_That_ got her attention. "What guy is _this?_"

Azalia heard the tone and laughed. "Not like that you gutter-minded noble! It's the guy you met, Anders. He…well, the guy has magic hands with working out kinks, no pun intended."

"Uh huh." Elena glanced at her shrewdly. "You sure nothing ever…?"

"Not for my lack of trying," she admitted, shocking Elena enough that her jaw actually dropped open. "The tower…well, there is very little to do and while I wasn't nearly as depraved as most, even I had to scratch the itch on occasion." With an absolutely devious grin, she added, "In case you didn't notice, the tower at least doesn't lack on very fine looking guys."

Oh, she'd noticed. She'd just never considered…wow. Damyan, bless his heart, would blow his top if he'd ever known that. "So you…" She made vague gestures, unable to say the words.

Azalia had no such problems. "Yes. I've had sex. Quite fun, to be honest, though some…" She shook her head. "Especially in the beginning, it's horrible. Rubbish. It got better with experience." Eyeing her, she said, "I take it from your half-horrified, half-curious expression that you haven't yet?"

"Not for lack of offers, but no, I haven't." _Both male and female,_ she added, thinking briefly of the elfin Iona. "I just never met anyone I…wanted like that."

"Better that way, I think," Azalia said with a nod. "For what it's worth, I recommend someone with…experience. The odds of finding someone fresh who has any clue on how to do things right is…slight, to say the least."

Heat filled her cheeks. _Are we REALLY talking of this?_ "I…think I should go to sleep now. Yeah."

Azalia giggled, but nodded. "Yes, you should. We'll leave for Redcliffe at dawn."

Her friend left, still chuckling, and Elena let her mind drift to the situation at Redcliffe. If Arl Eamon was ill, she supposed that put the arlessa in charge. From what little she knew of Arlessa Isolde…well, thing didn't look well, at any rate.

_Then again,_ she mused, _we seem to be having a peculiar sort of luck. Who knows?_

_

* * *

**Another chapter down. Yay! And Redcliffe is next with the adorable Bann Teagan. I love that man ever since he called Isolde out on her part in the whole possession business.  
**_

**_Thank you to all of you who've given me feedback - you have no idea how much it helps me and please continue to do so!_**

**_I will refrain from shamelessly begging for more feedback (or not...I can't seem to help myself) and simply direct you to the button below before you move on to read some of the other great DA stories floating around here._**

**_Til next chapter! ~SRD  
_**


	6. Warden Bonding and the Guerrin Charm

**Chapter Six**

_Warden Bonding and the Guerrin Charm_

* * *

"You're besieged by _what?_"

Azalia didn't _mean_ to sound that…disbelieving when the scout told them what had been happening in Redcliffe. Truth be told, it wasn't inconceivable. They'd faced animated skeletons in the Brecilian Forest, hadn't they? It was just…bah! Did _nothing_ ever go their way? Just once? No fuss, no something-wants-you-dead problem? Apparently not, considering Arl Eamon was apparently locked away with his family in the castle with no word and the arl's brother, Bann Teagan, was left in charge of the village that was completely convinced they were all going to die. Talk about a downer.

"Uh…Azalia?" Alistair's voice stopped her short, turning partly so she could face him. He had a very guilty hand-caught-in-the-cookie-jar expression on his face and she mentally braced herself for the worst. _Something_ was wrong. "I think I should talk to you before we…well, before we speak with Bann Teagan."

Looking down the side of the cliff to the village down below, she shrugged. "Might as well tell me what's on your mind now, then. The scout looks impatient."

"Right, well…you know how I said I was raised by Arl Eamon?" His voice was pitched low in a whisper so only she could hear a word he said. Lyna might be able to, but she was too busy looking around corners and expecting a skeleton to jump out at her to listen too closely. "That was true, but…"

_Andraste's frilly knickers. _"Spit it out, Alistair."

He shifted on his feet, obviously forcing himself to say the words. Surely whatever he had to say couldn't be that bad? "There was a reason for that, you see. My father…my father was King Maric."

Several things ran through her head as she tried to process this tidbit, most of which would've been too rude to say. Maric? As in King Maric Theirin, handsome king of Ferelden up until five years ago and the source of many female mage's wet dreams? She'd only been twelve at the time, but even Azalia had seen the appeal in the warrior king who'd ousted the Orlesians from Ferelden. The day he'd died the tower had nearly been flooded in the tears of half the female mages. For a month or so after, even speaking his name had been taboo lest it set off the younger apprentices.

_Alistair_ was King Maric's son? Without thinking, she walked until they were nose to nose, eyes narrowed while her comrade made a high-pitched squeak and jumped at her proximity. The more Azalia looked, the more she supposed she could see it. She'd noticed a certain resemblance he'd had to King Cailan in Ostagar, though he'd made Alistair look downright serious in comparison with his flippant disregard for the darkspawn's threat.

After sufficiently startling him, she took several steps back (to his relief) and hummed thoughtfully. "So…does that mean you're the heir to Ferelden's throne now?"

His expression was priceless. "Maker's breath! I hope not!" The appalled look melted somewhat, transforming to his usual pensive confusion. "I don't think so, anyway. It was made very clear to me from early on that the throne would never be in my future…and that's _fine by me._"

_Yeah, but Cailan wasn't dead at the hand of the Queen's common-born father at the time._ There was a thought. Depose the queen and set Alistair on the throne. It would make her life as a Warden much easier, to put it mildly.

Azalia shoved that thought away for later. "Well that…huh. It explains the resemblance to King Cailan that I saw, at least." Whirling around, she shrugged as she continued down hill, smirking when she caught a quick glimpse of Alistair's shocked expression. "Good to know for the future."

It was his turn to narrow his eyes at _her_. "Why do I not like the sound of that?"

"I have no idea."

He relaxed after that, thankfully, and Azalia let her eyes drift over the resigned faces of the militia men that she passed as they walked through the town square towards the Chantry. Their armor was falling apart and every sword and axe was in desperate need of repair; each bow a shot or two away from snapping in half. The few who were practicing were doing so half-heartedly, at best.

"This is depressing," Lyna said, arms crossed and frowning. "These shemlen have no…what is the word? Hope. They will die in minutes if they battle like this."

"They do not expect to live," Morrigan concurred, shaking her head. "If you are to die, 'twould be simpler and far less painful to fall upon one's sword, no?"

Even Sten merely shook his head, though he offered no opinion on the state of Redcliffe's militia except a terse, "Unacceptable."

"Any of you heard of tact?" Alistair wondered out loud, glaring at the three.

"They are doing all that they can," Leliana defended, "though their spirits _are_ rather low."

Azalia turned, curious as to Elena's reaction. She was the only one not saying anything, though she would also be the one with the _most_ to say, seeing as she would've been the one in command of Highever's militia. The teyrn would've been old enough that he'd be giving such duties to his children.

Her brow was furrowed, eyes narrowed as she stared at the men, and Azalia could practically see the gears turning in Elena's head. When she looked up and their gazes caught, her face reddened and she looked away in a huff, making Azalia laugh.

"Mind filling me in on the joke?"

Azalia whirled, nearly smacking her face into Bann Teagan's chest. Leaning back so she could stare up at him, she couldn't hold the grin off her face. "Bann Teagan."

"I remember you." Humor twinkled in his eyes that gazed over their group before his expression sobered when they fell on Elena. "Elena. I am relieved upon words to see you are safe. I was saddened to hear about the teyrn and teyrna when the news reached me in Rainesfere."

A look Azalia couldn't name, exactly, crossed her friend's face that suddenly seemed almost…redder. "Thank you, Bann Teagan."

_I'm missing something._ She looked between the bann and Elena, aware that Alistair was doing the same in ill-disguised curiosity. The tension was thick enough she could practically hear the electrified current crackling between them, Elena's booted feet shifting every so often in poorly concealed nervousness.

It was Alistair, of all people, who finally broke the very long and _very pointed_ silence. "So! What's this undead trouble we're hearing about?"

_

* * *

I am a woman grown of eighteen_, Elena told herself fiercely as Azalia and Morrigan went off to see about bolstering the militia's morale, while Alistair and Lyna saw to getting them some suitable equipment. Sten was off helping to fortify the town, once he'd been assured this wasn't just a waste of valuable time, and Leliana was wandering amongst the people in the Chantry, trying to help wherever she could.

Which left her, of course, discussing plans of action with Teagan.

As he detailed the attacks and estimated the number of enemies that came, they outlined the many ways they could attack them; Elena made herself focus on that. For six months, she'd had full control of Highever's militia and had seen to their training personally. The militia was Highever's first line of defense, comprised of men from the villages ruled over by them, and she'd personally seen to it that they were prepared for anything. It was the main reason her father had been willing to leave her in charge while he and Fergus marched south with the bulk of Highever's soldiers; their army itself hadn't even been needed thanks to the militia's training.

"I can set a wide array of traps and the like at some of the smaller entrances," she pointed out once he finished talking. "I've seen some supplies I can use around the village to make some effective ones if combined with the poisons we have on hand."

Teagan nodded, his finger shifting to the main entrance. "What about the main hill? There aren't many, but they do seem to have ogres in their numbers. They're what do most of the damage before any of the men can take them down and they usually come down from there."

"Azalia has a few area spells that'll do a lot of damage," Elena mused, recalling the talk they'd had concerning what her abilities were shortly after they'd left the tower. "She can heal as well, though, so I'm hoping she can concentrate on keeping us all upright and leave the area damage to Morrigan. Lyna, the Dalish hunter with us, can probably help us the most with the ogres. Just leave them to her."

Teagan arched a curious eyebrow at that and managed to effectively convey the level of his disbelief in one word. "Really?"

It made Elena smile. "It's rather difficult to explain. All I shall say is that she got pretty badly hit by an ogre when we fought during Ostagar and has since set out to assure she never gets overwhelmed by them again."

Curiosity turned to full blown horror and concern at that little insight. "You were _at_ Ostagar?"

_Oh. Right. No one knows that._ She smiled halfheartedly at his frozen expression. "The former warden commander saved me when…" Elena took a long, albeit shaky, breath and forcefully reminded herself not to dwell. "He planned on making me a warden, but things happened and I didn't join. I was fighting in the front lines with Lyna and some of the men from South Reach. We went left, tried to flank the darkspawn on either side with the men from Oswin and pull some away from the main lines but…"

"I wish I could've helped you somehow," he lamented, shaking his head. "I can not imagine the horror of these past months for you and can only thank the Maker you survived."

Her face reddened again. _He always did know how to make a woman blush to the roots of her hair; the charmer._ "Teagan, you're making me blush!"

He flashed a grin that managed to be both boyish and downright devious in response. "You have always been a lady most fetching with a splash of color on your fair skin, Elena."

She groaned, head ducking until she felt like trying to burrow her head into the dirt. "See? This is why my mother entertained those ideas of hers." Elena shook an accusing finger at him. "And you fed them quite willingly with that…that _Guerrin Charm_!"

"Lady Eleanor adored matchmaking," he chuckled. It was not the first, nor last, time his natural charm would be called as such. Rumor had it that Eamon had been the same way until he met his wife and Elena doubted Teagan would be different. "Saw it as her duty or some such after my dear sister Rowan passed away to see me settled down with a nice woman. That she tried to sell me on the idea of taking you for a wife, Elena, was almost expected by then." Patting her hand, Teagan was obviously still amused, though he wasn't blatantly _laughing_ anymore at the least. "So you can stop being so embarrassed and actually look me in the eye when you speak."

Elena grimaced despite herself. "Caught that, did you?" She forced herself to lift her head, sheer stubbornness making her meet his twinkling eyes from across the table where the map of Redcliffe Village was sprawled out. He was _laughing at her _with his eyes, she noted unhappily, but Elena persisted anyway.

"I think that is the most amusement I've had since this whole nightmare began," he sighed as his chuckles trailed off and he stared in frustration at the piece of vellum between them. "Hopefully if we can raise the morale of the men, bolster our defenses, and get some decent weapons and armor we might survive another night and I can sneak into the castle come morning to see how things are."

Elena thought back to the animated skeletons in the ruins, frowning as she recalled that evil mirror that had made Azalia so sick. _Tainted_, she mentally corrected. _Just as if a darkspawn had bitten her._ "That…may be wise. But not alone." She relayed a shortened version of her thoughts to him, watching as his worry and dread increased with each word.

Teagan was massaging his temple when she'd finished speaking and grimacing. "The situation just keeps getting better and better. Now more then ever, I must see what is happening at the palace. If Eamon is…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "If this is indeed the same, I would know if for nothing else then to end him quickly and without suffering. Rowan…I have seen one of my family die a slow, painful death already. I would not have my brother suffer the same."

Elena placed a comforting hand on his arm, gripping it slightly. Images of her father's pained expression flashed in her mind as he slowly bled out on the floor of the larder; hopefully her mother had gone quickly. It made things in her chest ache to think they had both suffered before death took them in its embrace. "I know." With a sigh, she turned back to the map and pointed towards the windmill where several templars and half of their group would wait to fight off the creatures from the castle. "Let's just survive tonight first."

* * *

"Did you _have_ to break down the sodding _door?"_

"He was being foolish," Lyna said simply as the silly shemlen tossed his hands into the air, exasperated. "He agreed to fix the weapons and armor, didn't he?" Agreeing to find out if his only child was still alive in the castle seemed a small price to pay to get him to stop blathering at her.

"You do realize this is why most of Thedas still thinks your people are savages, right?" he pointed out, motioning to the wooden door that had broken in half.

Lyna's eyes narrowed as she looked over her shoulder at the blond shemlen. Azalia had made her swear not to kill him, but that didn't mean she had to like it. Foot in mouth syndrome, she'd said he had. Lyna had never heard that particular phrase for it, but she got the gist of it. He spoke before he thought, like Fenarel. "Really? I thought it was because of the tight leash your Chantry has wrapped around your country's collective necks."

His eyebrow did an amusing little twitch as he fought himself from saying something rude or even more foolish, making Lyna smirk slightly. Ah, but taunting this particular shemlen was kind of fun. The shemlen witch was right about that, at least.

Whatever reply he was about to give was halted as the mages came into view, conversing in tones that was the closest Lyna had ever heard them to fighting. Oddly enough, a pudgy faced shemlen and a rather morose looking flat-ear trailed behind them, as well as a durgen'len that was flanked by two mercenaries.

"Just leave the coercion to me next time," Azalia sighed, sounding agitated. The shemlen witch merely shrugged, unbothered and looking slightly annoyed. "You're as subtle as a brick to the head."

"A brick to the head 'twould get you answers quicker," the witch shot back, arms crossing over her shirt's gaping neckline.

The mage was not to be one-upped, however. "If they survived it," she snapped, head jerking towards the flat ear that, now that he was closer, Lyna could see was rubbing his head. "Dead men can't fight."

"Our enemies would prove otherwise," the witch smirked, and even the silly shemlen begrudgingly chuckled as Azalia made a face that looked as if she'd bitten on a particularly sour fruit.

"Weapons and armor are good," she interrupted once they were in earshot. Lyna glanced at the militia as the new soldiers joined them; there was a definite difference in mood compared to what they'd been like when they first arrived. _Morale boost is a success as well._

"Sten finished fortifications," the silly shemlen added, motioning to where the qunari was sitting silently, frightening the shemlen nearby just by looking at them. It was rather amusing to see, actually, considering he wasn't even _doing_ anything. Just looking…staring. He even had a bird perched on his shoulder at one point. "Elena's waiting inside with Bann Teagan to give us the rundown on what we're doing tonight."

As soon as they all entered the Chantry, Lyna could see why Sten had opted to wait outside. The head priest kept giving them the stink eye; it was a look Lyna blatantly returned until Azalia nudged her and made her stop.

"What in Andraste's name _is_ that?"

Lyna rather concurred with the crazy shemlen's exclamation. The trap sitting in front of Elena was like nothing she'd ever seen before and was vaguely…sinister. And pointy. Even the shemlen lord was eyeing it like he wasn't quite sure it was safe to even be around.

"Trap of my own making," she said proudly, caressing the wooden structure like she often did Lethallin who was snoozing peacefully at her feet. "I've made several and set them up around the town square entrances except at the main hill. They should take out the enemy's first line quite effectively." She looked to the shemlen witch then. "I'm hoping you can cover the main hill entrance itself with some area of effect spells, take a few out before they even reach us in the square."

The witch nodded. "Doable, I suppose."

"Since we'll have Morrigan down here at the square, Teagan pointed out it might be best if you're at the windmill." She looked at Azalia as she said this, who nodded. "I'm having you up there with Leliana, Alistair, and Lethallin."

She did frown at that. "Why not Sten? Not that I don't want Lethallin with me or anything, but I thought he'd be with you."

Lyna nodded, however, seeing what she'd planned. "The qunari is a seasoned warrior like the silly shemlen here." She motioned to the blond who glowered at her. "It is wise to have at least one among each group. Presumably the square will be hit worse, as most of the men will be centered there, so it is best the more powerful of the two be positioned there." Glancing at Elena, she arched an eyebrow. "Am I correct in guessing I will be at the square as well?"

"Ogres," was all she said, and Lyna actually smiled at that. Tamlen had once described it as being both a peaceful and yet viciously predatory expression; a description that wasn't far off if the looks she was getting were any indication. "I'm told there are usually two or three mixed in amongst the darkspawn and animated dead who make up the enemy's numbers."

"I will handle them," she said with a pleased nod, the blood in her veins racing. _Finally! Some good news._

Azalia quirked a curious eyebrow at her. "Can you explain the expression? You look…happy about that."

"Simple," Lyna said with a nod. "I really _hate_ ogres."

Unsurprisingly, only Elena actually laughed at that.

_Ah well,_ she thought with a shrug. _They'll see._

* * *

Azalia's nerves were on edge by the time the sun began to set, though it wasn't the fighting that had her so antsy. She rather liked making darkspawn shatter into tiny pieces of collapse into burning heaps of groaning filth. It was the sadistic side of her, she mused, that she'd suppressed during her stay at the Circle Tower. It only really showed when she got competitive, truthfully. Mage competitiveness wasn't as well known as the rumored depravity, but it was just as bad. Everyone tried to outshine everyone else, usually to disastrous results. Like the first floor bathroom debacle that had ended with half of it being completely demolished. Needless to say, Gregoir had been less then impressed. Neither had the apprentices who'd ended up having to run all the way _upstairs_ just to use the bathrooms.

But no, the battle was not why she was practically chomping at the bit to burn something to cinders. It was, actually, Alistair.

"You don't think…" he continued on, looking troubled. "Well, you saw it. I mean, he's my uncle in all the ways that count and…"

"In Orlais, it is not uncommon for women to be much younger then their husbands," Leliana mused _not helping things at all_ and earning a pointed glare that she ignored. "The bann is very handsome and the brother of Queen Rowan; and I remember the Couslands from a book of Ferelden's history…they are second to the king in terms of power, yes?"

"Indeed," Azalia ground out, trying not to sound annoyed. "In theory, Loghain was just as powerful, but the fact that he was common-born always made the nobility instinctively hold him in lesser regard then Teyrn Cousland." _And why am I adding to this conversation?_ Normally, she'd love to talk about it, but Alistair had been going on about it for the past _five hours_. Even she had her limits. "The fact that he ditched the army at the Battle of West Hills, even if it was to rescue King Maric, and Teyrn Cousland not only stayed but _survived_ the equally as disastrous Battle of White River added to it." _That_ thought made Azalia pause. _If Arl Eamon was enough of a threat that Loghain presumably had him poisoned to get him out of the way then…_ It was like fitting another piece into a very large, very confusing puzzle, and she grimaced at the clarity in which that part of the picture began forming. "Sodding bastard; he probably helped Howe orchestrate Teyrn Cousland's death. With King Cailan dead and no heir, the Bannorn would likely have looked to Teyrn Cousland to take the throne."

Alistair seemed to have realized that too and shook his head. "You think she realizes?"

Azalia looked out as the sun fell beyond the horizon and a sickly mist began creeping across the ground. _It finally starts. _"No. You won't need to ask that when she figures it out."

Whatever thoughts they all had regarding that stopped as the last vestiges of light disappeared and a large cloud of dust began making its way quickly towards the village from the castle. _It's heading for the town square._ Elena had been right on the spot, though she hoped they had enough manpower. That looked like a lot for how few soldiers there were.

"Here they come!" one of the templars shouted. Azalia could see the first wave appearing through the mist. With a well placed fireball, the oil Sten had made the soldiers bring up from one of the stores in town exploded, setting the shambling dead on fire as they charged through it and came at them with weapons raised. Compared to darkspawn, they were easy, but the problem was that each attack did very little actual damage. Lethallin was the most effective, using his teeth to rip them apart bone by bone until they couldn't walk.

"The limbs!" she shouted as Leliana switched her bow out for a pair of daggers. "Aim for the legs!" With a well placed bolt of lightning at the joints, the dead stumbled and fell to the ground where Lethallin gleefully tore into them like a ham on Prayer Day, his massive head shaking and sending bones flying everywhere.

It took several minutes to finally realize when no more were coming, the tingle of darkspawn tugging at her mind. She'd only felt it recently, that pull to the vile creatures, and she knew there were a good number of them amongst the group attacking the square.

Almost as if on cue, the messenger from the bridge when they first arrived at the village came stumbling up the hill, bloodied and out of breath. "The militia is being over run! We need help!"

Lethallin was already running at the word 'militia'; all of them were darting down the steep dirt slopes by the time 'help' left his mouth.

The militia was being swarmed at least three to one and she could already see that Elena was down with a nasty gash running from her knee to almost her ankle. Even so, she was doing a commendable job, shooting down darkspawn who came in range with an accuracy that showed just how much she'd been training herself in her down time. Sten was currently tending to a swarm of the skeletons, frustrated when they didn't stay down and _die_, while Morrigan was being…well, Morrigan.

To be honest, Azalia could admit to just staring rather dumbly for several moments. There was one ogre left, the ground shaking with every step it took, and there was Lyna, covered in blood from head to toe but looking otherwise unharmed. The elf was like a blur in motion at the ogre's feet, slicing into the creature's legs and disappearing before its large fists could swing down. It roared with each cut of its flesh, blood dripping from wounds that had been slashed at repeatedly, until it finally went to a knee, unable to remain on its feet. That was when she saw, Azalia mused, what had to be a prime example of why the Dalish were so feared in battle.

Her sword and dagger shined with an almost radiant glow in the moonlight before she charged and Lyna ran up the ogre's arm, her sword stabbing it in the shoulder deep enough that it roared in fury, flailing wildly to dislodge her and failing miserably. With a nimble swing behind him, she slammed her dagger into its back on the other side, using momentum to lift her up to the ogre's other shoulder where, with a purposeful tug and a very quick slash, she yanked her sword free and slit its throat, the spray of blood so large as it choked and collapsed that it was like a lake of red with nothing but the lone elf standing on it's back, reclaiming her dagger and staring at its corpse with the haughtiest expression Azalia had ever seen.

"Did she just take an _ogre_ down _BY HERSELF?"_ Alistair gawked outright, his eyes incredibly wide.

Lyna only turned towards them both, her expression that of complete and utter peace for all of five seconds before she went to help deal with the rest of the 'little things'. "Three," she corrected, glancing at the two other fallen corpses with similar injuries. "I _really_ hate ogres."

Azalia was still laughing over it come sunrise, the last of the skeletons nothing but a pile of bones on the ground at her feet and the corpses of the darkspawn a nasty smelling pyre of flames. Her laughter was short-lived, however, as she walked into the Chantry to see the injured being tended, though that wasn't what killed her mood.

It was the Taint.

It rolled around a few in waves, the symptoms much more obvious in some rather then in others. Young, old, male, female…civilian or soldier – it didn't discriminate and she closed her eyes as she tried to discern exactly how many would essentially have to die because of rotten luck. Some who were bitten didn't seem to have it, while others who didn't have a scratch on them had it from exposure alone. There was no sense or reason to it, though the bitten were obviously much more likely to contract it.

"Seven," she whispered, shaking her head as she spoke to Bann Teagan and pointed them out, Alistair merely confirming it for her. "Seven are tainted."

Templars removed them on command despite much protest and the distraught screaming of mothers and wives; brothers and husbands. She didn't know and didn't _want_ to know what they did…Azalia just hoped it was quick and painless. Would the Joining have saved them as it had her? Possibly, but neither she nor Alistair had any ideas as to what the Joining entailed other then darkspawn blood and lyrium, which was why only mages prepared it. There was definitely more to it, though neither of them had been in the order long enough to know.

"The nightmare is over, for now," Teagan sighed. "Maker willing, I will be able to enter the castle and see if my brother and his family yet live today."

From where she was on one of the stretchers being tended, Elena raised her head and glared at him pointedly. "_Not alone,"_ she said in that tone only nobles could possess. It was polite and yet made anything they said _not a request._

"Alistair and I will head in with you," Azalia offered, glancing back and nodding when she saw Alistair was in agreement. "I am anxious to see if the Veil has been torn. It would explain those…things…but would require mages to fix. The sooner we see to it, the better."

"Bann Teagan!" Redcliffe's mayor, Murdock, ran inside the Chantry, nodding hastily when he saw them. "There is movement from the castle! Two people are making their way towards the village."

"Who?" both she and Teagan demanded in unison.

"It's a guard…and the arlessa!"

* * *

_**A/N: Have I mentioned how much I LOVE Teagan? Am I the only one who would've totally seduced him, had he been an option? Anyway, Redcliffe Castle is up next with the decidedly unpleasant Arlessa Isolde who I have no particular love for. Horrible woman. And Azalia gets to see Jowan again. Wonder how that reunion will be? Heh.**_

_**Go on then, you know what I'll say by now. Feedback. Please? *Insert wide, sparkly eyed smile here***_

_**~SRD  
**_


	7. Quick and Easy

**Chapter Seven**

_Quick and Easy_

* * *

"How did he convince me this was a _good_ idea?" Azalia muttered under her breath, eyeing the hidden door inside Redcliffe's windmill skeptically.

Beside her, Alistair made a small snickering sound that might have been a laugh. "Oh, I don't know. A smile here and a few flattering comments and I've heard Teagan could convince even the most zealous Chantry mother to do what he wanted. How could a mere Grey Warden _possibly_ stand up to that?"

He really _was_ finding far too much amusement in that, Azalia thought with a scowl. And Leliana wouldn't stop _snickering_ at her, either. Fortunately, Lyna wasn't saying anything at all and was, in fact, staring balefully at the thick webs of spider silk hanging from the ceiling as they made their way through the tunnels.

_No wonder Bann Teagan is so well liked,_ Azalia mused. _He's got charm enough that it's a weapon all on its own. _That said weapon had worked only too well on _her_ vexed her somewhat, though. Enough that she'd agreed to let him go in alone with that…woman and was currently taking the hidden entrance to get inside the castle was proof of it. She still thought it was a bad idea, but fighting with Teagan was about as successful as convincing Elena she wasn't going to be missing anything by staying in the village. Azalia had healed her leg as best she could, but healing really wasn't her forte. Anders would've been better…or even Jowan. His aversion to pain of any kind had always served him very well in healing studies.

"_Setheneran,"_ Lyna muttered in the tone Azalia had come to identify synonymously with the word paranoid. That she generally ended up having her paranoia confirmed had only furthered Lyna's frequent use of it.

"Not weak," Azalia corrected, sighing. "Torn. I can feel it to my very bones. Whatever it is, the Circle of Magi will need to fix."

Even Alistair sighed. "Even better. Demons. Walking Dead. Darkspawn. Why not throw a party and invite Loghain, too? We can put everything that wants to kill us in one big room."

Despite herself, Azalia chuckled. "Only if I can set them all on fire." She stopped as she faced a door they came upon, eyes narrowed. "Any chance there won't be something disgusting or hostile waiting for us on the other side of this?"

Leliana laughed. Lyna snorted. Alistair just sighed and got into position, sword and shield at the ready.

"Yeah…didn't think so." Azalia kicked the door open with a bang, a well placed fireball exploding and knocking three corpses off their feet. They were in the dungeons, from the looks of it. Dispatching them was easy now that they knew how to, Alistair cutting one off at the knees and beheading it before the body fell to the ground. Leliana pinned the other two still with arrows, leaving plenty of time for Lyna to come up and behead the other two.

"Hello?" a shaky voice piped up. "Is someone out there?"

"Someone's here?" Glancing around, she saw a hand stick out of one of the cells and wave to get their attention. It was an oddly familiar voice, slightly higher then one would expect a man's voice to be, and for a brief second she wondered…but no. Azalia couldn't bring herself to hope. Cautiously, she walked up to the cell, her eyes widening as her staff dropped from her fingers, clattering noisily to the ground.

The man's expression, if anything, matched hers. "Zali?"

"Jowan?"

_Lightning streaked across the sky, jolting Azalia yet again from the haze of sleep. She grimaced and twitched as thunder boomed again, far too close then she'd have liked. She hated lightning. It was unnerving and it took a moment or two for her to remember that she couldn't go crawl in with her father anymore. Neither of her parents were there and she buried her face into her pillow, stifling her cry._

_She wanted to go home._

_A squeak from the bunk above her echoed before she heard her bunkmate climb down and Azalia took a breath, hoping he couldn't hear her. Jowan had been nice since her first day and she didn't want him thinking she was a crybaby. Though they were the same age, he'd been here over a year already compared to the mere two months she'd been putting up with so far. If anyone had a better right to cry then her, it was him._

_Instead, he yawned, and Azalia nearly jumped out of her skin when he crawled into her bed as well. He only said, "Sleep," before tugging her blankets to his chin, his eyes never really opening even as he laid his head down on the wet spot her tears had made. If he even realized she'd been crying, he gave no indication of it and simply rested one of his hands lightly on her own, snoring softly a few moments later._

_Sniffling, she grasped his hand tightly. It didn't work, of course – every loud boom made her jump out of her skin – but she appreciated the gesture all the same._

Azalia kicked at the cell door a few times before Leliana had to gently but firmly drag her away, picking it with a concerned expression. As soon as she heard the click of the latch loosening she tossed the door open and hugged him, relief hanging heavily over her shoulders. He was painfully skinny, his broad shoulders slumped, and she could feel the tell tale signs of lashes along his back, his ripped robes further confirming it. Anger swelled before reason took over, leaning back just enough so that she could glare at him, her fist pounding into his shoulder repeatedly.

"Idiot!"

Jowan grimaced but nodded. "I know. I know…"

"You know him?" Alistair asked her, eyeing Jowan warily.

"You could call him my brother, I guess," Azalia mused; though she didn't acknowledge it, she did take notice of the way he seemed to almost sigh in relief. Surely he hadn't thought she'd turn him away? Then again, he always was insecure like that. His own family had turned him away, after all. "Looked out for me ever since I first went to the tower."

He tried to chuckle but only half managed – with a groan, Jowan fell back against the stone walls and winced as his back hit it. "You looked like you were going to ravage the templars guarding the door if _someone_ didn't talk some sense into you. Everyone else was too afraid you would bite them."

"But I _did_ bite you," Azalia pointed out.

He chuckled dryly. "Yeah, but we've always known I'm a bit of a masochist. Have to be since I keep making so many mistakes." He gave an audible sigh when she healed some of his injuries. "Thanks…though I hardly deserve it."

"You're the mage the arlessa ranted about." It wasn't a question.

"I never meant for any of this to happen!" he exclaimed forlornly. "And I didn't do this!" He waved his hands towards where the corpses were wildly. "Teyrn Loghain told me the arl was a danger to Ferelden and if I poisoned him he'd…settle things with Irving. I just…wanted to go _back_. Then the arlessa contacted the Mage's collective and…"

That caught Alistair's attention. "The arlessa what?"

"The arl's son, Connor, started displaying…talent," he explained wryly. "The arl didn't know, but he would've sent the boy to the Circle even knowing they would never see him again." He looked at her, pale eyes pleading for her to understand. "The arlessa didn't want that so she contacted the collective to find someone outside the Circle to help…teach him. Show him how to hide it."

Azalia nodded. It wasn't unheard of; Anders had been one such case from what little he'd ever told her about his own situation. But even he'd only eluded the templars for so long. "So you taught him and carried out Loghain's plan at the same time." With a sigh, she groaned, "You realize you helped the man who wants me dead, right?"

"I didn't know! He's _Teyrn Loghain_, for Maker's sake! I thought…" Jowan shook his head. "Oh, what does it matter? I'm dead either way. Should've known he'd just abandon me here to rot."

"Your shemlen tactician has a bad habit of that," Lyna remarked, and Alistair even grunted his agreement to that, scowling as he always did whenever he heard Loghain's name uttered.

Checking his head, Azalia wrinkled her nose at the greasy feel of his hair that had spots where blood had dried and crusted it together. "I can't leave you alone for a moment, can I?" she muttered. Jowan was weak, his mana reserves low, and seemed to have been accumulating an infection from the open wounds and filthy cell. She'd dealt with the infection so he'd be fine, though nothing but time and rest would fix the rest – neither of which they had a lot of. "First the blood magic, now this? You're luck never ceases to amaze me…"

"_Blood magic?"_ She didn't need to see Alistair's reaction to know he'd jumped back, the templar in him rearing its head. Leliana, too, judging by the muttered prayer she could hear the former chantry sister say.

"You knew?" Jowan's voice was insecure and quiet again.

"Anders told me when I woke up," she confirmed, chuckling. "Were you really nailing an _initiate?_ The girlfriend was actually _real?_"

Obviously, her reaction was enough to confirm for him that she wasn't about to spit on him and toss him at the nearest templar. "I love her…_loved her_. Did you…hear what happened to her? To Lily?"

Azalia shook her head. "No…Lily, huh? I remember seeing her." She also remembered thinking she wasn't all that pretty either, though Jowan didn't need to know that. "Anders might know, but…" She shook her head. "Haven't seen him since I left for Ostagar. After that, everything kind of…spun out of control."

Jowan obviously knew enough about Ostagar that his normally pale skin went event whiter. "Oh, Maker's breath, you were…?"

"Arrow straight through the neck, among other things," she nodded, far too cheerfully then was probably necessary. It was either that or start shooting lightning at things, though. "Survived thanks to a friendly maleficar in the Wilds."

He eyed her neck for a moment, touching the skin where it was slightly discolored – the only lingering sign of her injury. Once he let his hand drop, he took a deep breath and looked at her. "So…now what?"

Azalia just looked at him, gnawing thoughtfully on her bottom lip. Now what indeed. "Now we take care of this problem. We can sort everything out once the demon is taken care of." Silently as she helped him stand, Azalia thought with a mental grimace, _I can try and think of something that DOESN'T end with him dead._

* * *

She was going _insane._

"I'm fine!" Elena snapped at the healer who seemed determined to hover despite her injury being as healed as it was going to get. "Please, tend to the other people here. I'm _fine_." To prove her point, she slapped her leg, somehow managing to bite her tongue before she yelped from the shot of pain that went right up her spine. _OK, not the smartest of ideas, Elena…_

"But, Bann Teagan said…"

"_Teagan,_" she stressed with more anger then she actually felt, "said for you to see that I was comfortable and _I am_. _**Really.**_ Now please…_go help the other families here."_

"I apologize, milady," Mother Hannah told her once the girl left, an amused twitch in her lip. "I confess we…aren't quite sure what to do in regards to you. I know you are the daughter of the late Teyrn and Teyrna of Highever, but…"

"Do you know anything of what is happening?" she asked, hope swelling. "In Highever, I mean?"

The Reverend Mother only shook her head. "Not much, I'm afraid, though I did overhear the bann speaking of it a little. Arl Howe has proclaimed himself the Teyrn of Highever, though he has all but abandoned it to the carrion."

_He is Teyrn of nothing,_ Elena thought savagely, tears of frustration prickling at her eyes. Had he managed to murder her entire family, he would be able to legitimately claim the title, but because at least she lived he could not claim her family's teyrnir. The oaths sworn by the neighboring arls and banns to Highever kept them bound to the Cousland family in particular...of which she was head until such a time as Fergus' fate could be determined, anyway.

"I…Mallol was a dear friend of mine," Hannah whispered, and her eyes seemed to age in her grief. "She spoke very proudly of your family, milady. Many do, which is why the movement to brand the Couslands traitors – conspiring with Orlais in some plot – has been met with such resistance from the Bannorn. For what little it may be worth, they will stand with you, it seems." With a small nod, she walked away, and Elena mulled over that bit of information. It was a relief, at the least. More and more, she was convinced that having a voice of power in the coming months would be…beneficial. More beneficial, even, then if she were a Warden…not only for her, but for Azalia and Alistair as well. Highever, being one of the mere two teyrnirs that remained, was a strong voice in the ears of the Bannorn. Stronger, even, then Gwaren sometimes.

_It could be to our benefit if I take up the role of Teyrna,_ she mused. Once Teagan returned, Maker willing, she would have to see what he thought. For all her noble blood, she was _still_ very young. She didn't know all the tricks yet to political maneuvering while Teagan, at least, would. Or the arl, presuming he still lived. Elena _really_ hoped he did. If she did attempt to take back her family's teyrnir, having Eamon's support would definitely be a boost. Even holding the loyalties of over half the banns and arls in Ferelden as Highever did, it wouldn't mean nearly as much if Eamon wasn't with her.

"I have seen such a face before," Morrigan wondered with a shake of her head and a smirk on her lips. She stood nearby, obviously deciding she was the least irritating to stand near. "Tis' the face of one who is plotting. Would you sate the curiosity of one such as I?"

"I suppose you would know of plotting, yes?" Elena said genially. That the Witch of the Wilds had an ulterior motive to joining them was almost blatantly obvious. She just had no idea what it was, exactly. Morrigan was one of the tougher people she'd ever tried to read before. Her face gave away nothing, though her eyes held a myriad of emotions so jumbled there was no way to tell them apart. "I am thinking…I may be of better use as a noble then a Warden," she confessed.

Morrigan nodded, though Elena doubted very much that she understood the full importance. "Twould seem more useful, yes. I agree." Derisively, she remarked, "They are sorely in need of more brain then brawn, though the mage is sufficiently equipped, at the least."

Elena grinned faintly. "That sounded like a compliment."

"It sounds like many things," Morrigan countered, staring at her piercingly.

She could only smile. "I can see why Azalia likes you."

The comment obviously jarred her somewhat, the witch blinking once before her usual passive indifference slid easily over her face again. "I know not of what you speak."

"Kindred spirit, I think they're called," Elena mused, ignoring her confusion. "You can understand the one part of her I can't."

Morrigan's eyes narrowed. "And what might that be?"

Unsure of how to accurately describe it, she wiggled her fingers, shrugging when the witch gave another snort. "Power at your fingertips."

"And do you believe what your religion says?" she wondered, head tilting as she considered her. "Are we all abominations in the making, to be struck down for simply being what and who we are?"

"I think…" With a rather pointed glance towards where one of the chantry's initiates who was _far_ too interested in their conversation, Elena murmured, "I shall have to answer that at a later date."

She rather expected Morrigan to be cynical about her deflected answer, but she looked amused and maybe a bit approving. "A wise choice, I dare say. Far _wiser_ then some people…" As if knowing something was coming, the witch looked up just as the chantry doors practically flew open in his haste as Alistair strode in, his heavy chainmail covered in blood and his face pinched in a worried expression that set Elena's nerves on end.

"We've got a problem," he told her quickly, grasping her wrist lightly but firmly and almost pulling her along behind him.

"What's wrong _now?_"

Alistair's mouth clamped shut as Sten, Morrigan, and Lethallin trailed behind them, obviously not planning on staying in the chantry if she wasn't going to be there. It also fed her suspicions that Azalia had made them keep an eye on her in case something should happen. He didn't want to say what was happening – that much was obvious, but Elena placed a hand on his cheek, startling him enough to halt him and turn his face so that he could look at her in the eyes. "Alistair," she repeated softly, "_tell me what is wrong."_

"A demon is the cause of all the stuff happening at the castle," he sighed, his dark eyes softening in…sympathy? That couldn't be good. "It has possessed Arl Eamon's son, Connor, and…"

"And…?" She motioned for him to continue.

Alistair sighed again, though this time he sounded aggrieved more then anything. "And it may have Azalia as well."

"_**WHAT!"**_

* * *

"Undo it," Lyna demanded as the skittish shemlen winced under her stare. After literally beating the sense back into the shemlen lord, she hadn't really seen what happened. All she could recall was seeing Azalia sigh her relief as the imperious shemlen woman helped the man up, her amusement clear when he reamed into her for her part in causing this catastrophe, before she just…dropped. Like a sack of potatoes, her staff clattering noisily before her body itself crumbled to the floor. The skittish one she was currently intimidating had yet to actually leave her side after she was brought into one of the less bloodied rooms, guarded by a pair of knights who seemed quite happy to pretend they didn't see the magic in front of them at all.

For the life of her, she couldn't understand this shemlen aversion to magic. It was a blessing by the goddess to be born with such power. Yet, the shemlen treated their mages like pariahs _at best_.

"I can't," he said for the thousandth time, shoulders slumped. Azalia's head was in his lap in the arl's study, for all the world looking as if she were asleep. "She's been pulled into the Fade by the demon. We would have to go and get her back, but it requires lyrium and several mages or…" He gestured vaguely at the blood on her armor.

_We should've used the imperious shemlen woman,_ she thought with an annoyed sigh. The silly shemlen hadn't liked that idea at all. While killing the child was also an option, Lyna liked that thought about as much as the rest of them had. Children, she'd been taught, were gifts from the goddess and meant to be protected at any lengths, as they were the future of their race. Dalish children were especially treasured, as with each generation their immortality seemed to come back little by little.

"So we go to the Circle Tower," Lyna heard Elena say. The silly shemlen had, apparently, returned. With a worried glance, she kneeled down and touched Azalia's forehead, like a mother checking her child for a fever. Glancing up at the skittish shemlen, her eyes widened slightly. "Didn't I see you at the tower?"

"Uh…" He scratched his head sheepishly. "Yeah. I…uh…Jowan."

Realization filled her eyes. "Ah! Her friend. But why…oh."

_At least she catches on,_ Lyna thought with a sigh. She'd be much more annoying if she were as stupid as most of these higher-classed female shemlens seemed to be. "Your shem tactician tricked him," she supplied, and Elena's eyes hardened visibly.

"So Loghain _is_ responsible for the arl!" To the skittish one, her gaze was slightly kinder. "I understand you had some trouble before you ran from the tower? I take it he said he'd fix it for you or some such in return…"

"I'm such a fool," the pale eyed shemlen moaned, and Lyna reminded herself not to hit him upside the head. _He's not Tamlen, though he certainly sounds like him when he whines._ "I didn't…he's _Teyrn Loghain_, for Maker's sake! I didn't _know!_" Without thinking, he guiltily felt the discolored part of Azalia's neck, wincing. "She's always been like a little sister for me…if I knew…"

Elena smiled sadly and clapped a hand on his shoulder comfortingly. "Nothing to do about it now but atone; helping us here will go a long ways to doing that." Biting her lip, Lyna could practically _see_ the resolve inside her build. "Keep her safe while we go to the Circle. Alistair mentioned they can help them both."

"So we leave?" Lyna really hoped she didn't sound as eager as she was.

Elena patted her leg and nodded. "We leave at once, presuming we're all ready." Eying the qunari, she told him, "Would you mind staying here and making sure they're well protected? I'm sure the men here are fine, but…"

Sten nodded once. "I will ensure the mages are protected."

"Great!" She didn't look nearly as happy as her voice would lead them to believe, but Lyna figured it was her coping mechanism. "Quick and easy," she muttered, shaking her head. "I want it quick and easy."

She probably could have if she'd wanted to, but Lyna didn't restrain her snort. It was almost guaranteed to be anything _but_, knowing their luck.

_If I ever get out of this alive,_ she vowed, her eyebrow twitching as they left Redcliffe behind, heading north to the mages,_ I'm SO going to beat the curiosity right out of Tamlen._

_

* * *

_**A/N: ****Yet another divergence from the game. After doing some outlining, I can say this part of the trilogy will be roughly 20 or 21 chapters**. **I'm almost halfway there! A record for me. Next up is the Circle Tower AKA Kinloch Hold, and not only does Anders come back, but our favorite Antivan will finally come out and play! Yay!  
**

**Anyway, you know what I want...so get to it! =)**

**~SRD  
**


	8. Who Invited Abominations to the Party?

**Chapter Eight**

_Who Invited Abominations to the Party?_

* * *

It could never be said enough, Azalia privately thought as she watched the conjured illusion disappear in a brilliant explosion of sparkling flame. She _really_, _REALLY_ hated the Fade. Worse then that, however, she _hated_ demons. Ardently.

To give the bitch desire demon credit, though, she was getting better. It was getting trickier to remember it was all a dream, forcefully shoved upon her when the demon possessing Connor Guerrin had managed, in a last ditch effort born purely of spite, to drag her mind with it into the dream realm. Normally, she could influence her surroundings in the Fade, but not when she got brought in against her will. She was stuck here, annoyed and watching the demon try and find _something_ to seduce her with, until Alistair and the rest could defeat it and thus break the hold the demon had managed to get on her as well.

_This might take a while…_

Their best bet was the Circle Tower, of course. Being the betting kind of girl she was, Azalia would wager every last copper she had that a templar would be standing right behind her when she woke up, his unholy sword poised to slice her throat lest she wake up an abomination.

_Maybe I'll catch a break and a decent healer will be among them,_ she thought, rubbing her chest absently. The old injury in her chest was hurting – the one from the Tower of Ishal – and that one lapse in concentration had landed her here. Hopefully they'd be able to fix it for her since it was beyond her limited healing abilities. Lord knows she'd tried. _Wynne, maybe, if she survived…or Anders. I'm sure he'd get a kick out of telling me to open my robes so he could 'check the injury'._

Walking down the distorted path of the gnarled forest-like area around her, Azalia closed her eyes and felt around, curious. A mage's powers were enhanced in the Fade no matter how they were brought in, as was their sensitivity to the different ebbs and flows of magic. She could, truth be told, feel a…weakening nearby; a place where her world leaked into the Fade like a tempting perfume. She'd always thought of the Fade as feeling…still. Tranquil, even. Thedas, however, felt full of _life_. It was why the demons wanted to cross into their world, no doubt. The difference in energy was palpable and addicting.

It wasn't that difficult at all to find the rip, actually. It was like a window covered with a thin, translucent fabric. As she looked out, Azalia was startled to notice she was looking at the Circle…or what she _thought_ was the Circle.

Without thinking, she stepped through the window, tearing the thin barrier between her and the chaos beyond.

It was like she was disconnected from her body…it pulled at her like a heavy weight, chaining her down. She could break free of it with little thought if she wanted, but Azalia knew instinctively that it would be…bad to do that. Very, _very_ bad. Call her crazy, but she suspected she wouldn't be able to go back if she broke free of that weight. It was a theory she wasn't particularly inclined to test out. Just this once, she'd take it on faith.

Carnage and filth was…everywhere. She could feel the demons poignantly, bristling as she counted nearly a hundred, though it was a slowly decreasing number. Obviously there were people fighting them off still. Templars and mages lay dead and dying all along the halls, the great doors at the end of the hold shut. Walking over, Azalia reached out, surprised that she could physically touch anything at all. She tugged once, somehow unsurprised to find them barred shut and that the shouts of templars were vaguely audible behind them.

_That can't be good._ Abandoning the doors, she explored the other way, her hand grasping the handle of the door at the other end. It flung open and a well aimed fireball flew straight through her stomach, the magic a vague tingling where it went through. She was also face to face with a befuddled Kinnon, a handsome apprentice who was one of the few she'd dallied with during her days at the Circle.

"Nothing," he called back to a mage she recognized as Petra, a human her age that had been the last to pass her harrowing before Azalia had taken hers. He shut the door again and she was amused to note that it passed right through her. Reaching over, she poked him at the back of his neck, chuckling when he jumped as if struck and looked wildly around for the source.

_What's going ON? Kinnon's almost as bad as Jowan with the paranoia, but this can't be good._ Ironically, that idiot Keili was there as well, babbling to herself about how this was some punishment for their 'evil' magic. Azalia also noted another of the apprentices she didn't recognize plugging the ears of two children who were nearby, glaring at said girl like she'd be more then willing to shut her up in a more permanent capacity.

At the far end, near a barrier that had been erected over the doorway opening leading towards the apprentice library, she saw Wynne leaning against the wall, arguing quietly with a haggard looking Anders. Whatever was going on, Azalia felt something loosen as she saw him, beleaguered but fine and looking more then a little annoyed.

"I'm fine," Wynne was saying, sounding a might tense when she got close enough to hear them clearly. "And I won't. We can't risk it, Anders. You know that."

He glared at his mentor furiously, and she saw one hand fisting tightly behind him as he stood to his full height. With his hair falling loose and as messy as it was, Anders looked pretty damn intimidating, though the older mage didn't back down at all. "There will be more out there, Wynne! They may not be able to make it all the way here without help!"

She faltered a bit at that, her aged features loosening slightly before that firm resolve was back, as stubborn as ever. "I can't do that. I know…it pains me to think it, but I can't send you out alone. I must protect those here from the demons and abominations filling the tower's halls…_and that includes you._"

"_**WHAT!"**_ she shouted it without thinking, her eyes bugging. Not that anyone could hear her, but…

…or she'd thought not, anyway.

Wynne's head whipped around, staring directly at her with a mouth slightly agape. Anders and Petra both gave her concerned looks, but Wynne just kept staring and Azalia had the feeling she might not be as invisible as she'd thought.

"So it is as I feared," she sighed, sounding old and tired. Wynne stood and straightened, walking until she was a foot away from her.

Yep, she could see her alright. And hear her, apparently.

"You are dead."

It was Anders who tentatively spoke, sounding as if he was quite certain the older mage had finally cracked. "Are you hearing voices, Wynne? I know I always say you're older then Andraste and have always been a bit funny in the head, or that you'd one day completely snap and kill us all, but I was just kidding. You realize that, right?"

Petra, who was closest, hit him in the chest hard. Wynne ignored him.

"I'm not dead," Azalia told her, shaking her head. "It's…a long story."

Wynne wasn't hearing her, however. "It is Azalia," she told them, and that got Kinnon, Anders, and Petra's attention. The white-haired mage's sensitivity to spirits and such was a well known fact. It wouldn't be the first time she'd seen or heard the spirit of a recently dead. Keili just kept babbling, ignoring them all. "She's…a spirit now, though I know not why she's here. I feared she may have fallen at Ostagar along with the other Wardens, but I'd hoped…"

A small part of her was flattered that the three of them would look so crushed about the idea of her being confirmed dead, but most of her just felt like screaming. "I'm not _dead!"_ Azalia repeated again.

"She can not believe," Wynne lamented with a mournful shake of her head and Azalia squatted, hiding her head under her hands.

_Andraste's knickers, this is insane! Maybe Elena and the others can convince her once they arrive…_

* * *

"Quick and easy?" Lyna stated with ill concealed skepticism as the great doors of the Circle Tower slammed shut behind them. Even more pointedly, the elf aimed a lethal look towards their most…_recent_ addition. An addition that had, just a day ago, tried to ambush and kill them for Loghain. Elena was beginning to suspect whatever respect the Dalish hunter had held for her was quickly waning.

"There is nothing wrong with quick and easy, no?" the Antivan assassin said glibly, grinning and infuriating Lyna enough that her fingers twitched closer to the daggers at her hip. It was his way, it seemed, to turn everything into a dirty joke. Something told her Azalia would love him as much as Lyna seemed to hate him. "So long as it is done _well_, _mi amora._"

Elena knew enough Antivan to snicker when he said this. Oriana had taught her, way back when she was just getting to know her sister-in-law, though she'd never become fluent. She did, however, know enough that she had a reasonable idea as to what the former Crow kept muttering about Lyna's 'charms'. The Dalish huntress merely glared at him for such mutterings, though she remained otherwise unaware.

If she knew, she doubted Zevran would remain breathing. Lyna didn't have the best of tempers, after all.

"Watch the doors," she told Morrigan, who nodded with a dark look at the building around her, and Leliana. "If you can, _stall them_ should the Rite arrive while we're inside. We _need_ the mages alive."

"Tis' no less then what they deserve, allowing themselves to be caged as such," Morrigan commented.

Elena didn't comment. She'd heard it before and, quite frankly, she was too tired to argue with her over it again.

"We will," Leliana promised. "I can be _very_ persuasive when the need arises." She punctuated this by giving a rather impish smile.

"We will be back," Elena promised. Silently, she added, _I doubt we have any other choice._

"Who are you?" an elderly mage said, confused when they opened the far door. There were so few, though they looked fine, and a quick glance at Alistair confirmed it. That he could tell if a mage was possessed would come in handy here and was the reason she hadn't left him to guard the doors instead. "The templars won't open the door for anyone unless…"

"The Rite hasn't arrived yet," Elena said quickly, shaking her head. Practically, she understood the templar's view points, but to raze the tower? It was…inhumane. When a plague broke out in villages, they didn't just slaughter and burn the place to the ground to prevent it from spreading! Of course, it was impossible not to be a bit biased when one of her friends was a mage and could've easily been here.

The elder mage sighed, looking ten years older. "So they sent for it then…"

Near the door, another of the mages snorted. Though his hair was loose and he wasn't nearly so cheerful, Elena recognized his face. _He's the one Azalia spoke of. What was his name…?_

"Of _course_ they sent for it, Wynne," he huffed, his eyes tight in his irritation. She could practically see him vibrating with it. "Far as they're concerned, we're all abominations now, to be slaughtered like sheep 'for the good of Ferelden'." Though Elena knew the Tevinter language when she heard it, she had no idea what it was he said after that, though she _did_ know that it wasn't pleasant.

"Anders," a red-headed mage that was standing nearby said disapprovingly. "The children?"

_So that's it!_ At least she didn't have to call him 'that healer' now. "Anders…so that's your name. I remember you from my last visit."

"I as well," he said with a nod, pushing at his hair that kept falling into his face. It was as long as Zevran's, though it was a rich sandy blonde and not nearly so…neat. It made him look wild and, were it not for the deep scowl and obvious distress he was in, pretty damn good looking. "Lady Cousland. Sorry I don't look my best." He shrugged, a shadow of a grin on his face that kind of reminded her of Alistair. "Someone invited demons and abominations to your welcome party." His eyes gazed over their group, as if expecting someone else to be among them. Elena was about to tell him she was fine, if indisposed at the moment, when he hung his head that began shaking in obvious distress. "She's really dead, isn't she?"

"Huh?" Looking at Alistair, who seemed equally as confused. "Who's dead?"

Anders looked at them like they'd grown a second head and started dancing the Remigold over the bloody corpses of the mages. "Azalia…?"

"She's not dead," Alistair piped up, as lost as she was. "She's at Redcliffe. Indisposed at the moment, but…"

It was the mage, Wynne, who looked confused now. "But she…" Looking to her left at a spot of empty space, she frowned. Elena recognized that look. It was the look Udia would get on occasion when she was looking at something or someone not everyone else could see.

"You are _dirtheneran,_" Lyna said, for once not looking homicidal. "One who speaks with the Beyond."

"I suppose so," Wynne said eventually. "I've always been…sensitive to spirits and such. When I came to the tower, it got stronger. I've seen quite a few spirits of the restless dead – those who don't accept, don't know, or don't understand they are dead."

Elena nodded. She'd thought so. "She's here, isn't she?"

The older woman had the grace to look sheepish, staring where Elena figured Azalia's…spirit was. Why she was here was a question she'd ask her later. "Yes…and quite put out with me, I imagine. But she should not be able to…"

"Her mom had the gift as well," she mentioned. "And Azalia's in the Fade right now. A demon that terrorized Redcliffe pulled her in. Her body is being looked after."

"She could've crossed through the tear in the Veil," Anders said, looking relieved. He jumped suddenly though, saying, "What the hell?"

"She poked you," Wynne told him, sounding disapproving. Elena didn't need to see her to know she was laughing.

"So she can touch us?" Alistair wondered, sounding vaguely uneasy. It was followed by a high pitched yelp as he jumped as well, turning around quickly as if he could see her. "Not funny!"

Lyna just shook her head when her hair began moving on its own. "Why am I not surprised?"

"A mage with a sense of humor," Zevran chuckled. The single strand of blonde hair that fell along the left side of his face stiffened, as if it was being tugged. "How delightful. And this is the other Grey Warden, yes?"

Alistair glared at thin air, more exasperated then actually annoyed. "Yes."

"We promised Knight-Commander Gregoir we'd check the tower," Elena told Wynne, ignoring the tugging she felt on her own hair, though she mentally vowed to strangle her when she felt a poke in her side. "If we can find First Enchanter Irving before the Rite of Annulment arrives, he'll be willing to accept all is well again."

"Then our path is clear. I can remove my barrier and, Maker willing, Petra and the rest should be able to watch after those here." With renewed determination, Wynne stood tall, seemingly relieved at having something clear to do. "Allow me to accompany you, milady. I am Wynne, a senior enchanter of the Circle of Magi. I know these halls and…" She hesitated, clearly trying not to think the worst. "If the Circle has truly fallen, I would see it with my own eyes."

"Very well." Turning, Elena hoped she wasn't grimacing as she looked at Lyna who seemed to know what was coming. "Can you stay here? Protect those here and…" She glanced behind her, towards the main hall where the templars were. "Just in case?"

Instead of arguing, like she'd half expected, the elf only nodded. "Very well." With a sharp glance at Zevran, she huffed, "Keep your eyes behind your head and your blade in your hand."

"Right." After giving her some of the health poultices from her pack, Elena met Alistair, Zevran, and Wynne at the barrier, nodding when Wynne glanced her way. "Let's go kick some demon ass!"

_

* * *

Shink. Shink._

Lyna found it amusing that only one of the mages – the babbling fool of a shemlen, no less – seemed at all unnerved as she sharpened her blades. The rest, as it were, carried on as if she wasn't even around which, given the circumstances, suited her fine. The distant echoes of fighting made her tense, her fingers itching to go help, but she refrained, the image of the one and only abomination to slip past their main group firmly in her mind.

They were awful, unnatural creatures. While as susceptible to an arrow in the head just like everything else, Lyna could say honestly that she hoped she never had to fight such things again. _Ever._ She'd rather fight darkspawn, and those things were ten kinds of awful with a smell that clung to her leathers for days afterwards.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the very tall mage Elena had referred to as Anders begin walking her way. With loud, purposeful strokes, she half hoped the sound of blades would scare him off. No such luck, however. He sat down on the floor, though she noted with no small amount of envy that his head _still_ came to her elbow. It was, perhaps, the only thing she envied about the humans. They were mostly all so _tall._ While being small had its advantages as well – especially in battle – it was also a weakness. Most elves, even when they followed a warrior's path, were nimble fighters rather then the type to use brute strength. Unless you were Fenarel, of course, who had that damn nasty habit of running head first into battle – literally! How he'd yet to have his head chopped off, she had no clue.

"So I get why the Lady Cousland is hanging around," the mage was saying, as if he were just talking to himself. "It's not hard to see why the other elf is around, either."

_Noticed that, did you?_ Lyna sneered just thinking of it and nearly slit her finger open with a particularly harsh scrape of her blade against the stone.

If the mage took notice of her change in demeanor, he never showed it. "I'm at a loss about you though," he finished. "You don't want to be here – you've got the look of someone who's somewhere else most of the time. I should know."

"Oh?" she kept her voice light, though Lyna didn't like how close the mage was to being right. "And where are you then, shem?"

He actually chuckled, of all things, at her. "On the shores of Rivain, of course!" Leaning closer, he whispered as if she were a fellow conspirator as he said, "I hear they go nude on the beaches there!"

She'd been to Rivain…once. It'd been the longest trip away from her clan that she'd ever gone on, as well as the first (and only) one Fenarel or Tamlen hadn't come with her. She'd accompanied Paivel, Merril, and Junar to the Dalish community outside of Llomerynn and had visited the city itself, shocked that she wasn't getting glared at and was even relatively welcomed by the country's tan-skinned people. It had been unexpected, though pleasant, and she'd gone to see the shoreline and stumbled across such a thing. Quite interesting, though she doubted the mage realized it wasn't a _common_ thing. It was specific to a certain Rivaini holiday or some such…she wasn't sure on the details.

Lyna wasn't sure why – perhaps it was residual loneliness. Elena and Azalia were fine companions, but she missed her clan and her friends. She missed _him_ too and worried he might do something silly and get himself killed while she was away. Duty, however, was duty and she really did want to stop this Blight. It would mean one less danger to her clan – her family – and that was a purpose she couldn't turn away from. "Tis' more common in Antiva," she told him, her face completely straight despite the boggle-eyed look that small statement had earned from him.

"So it's _true_!" He sighed, no doubt conjuring some sick little fantasy in his oh-so-predictable shemlen mind. "Maybe I'll visit Antiva, next time I escape."

Curiosity and a growing boredom made her ask, "You make a habit of escaping?" Looking around, she didn't bother hiding her distaste. _Not that I can blame you._

"I know," he smirked, motioning around him. "Hard to believe _anyone_ would want to leave this lovely prison, right? But I like my freedom far too much. And the templars, see, make the funniest faces when you elude them…"

Despite herself, Lyna snorted. "To my people, magic is a gift from the Creator himself. This…" She motioned widely at the tower itself. "This is _bel abelas_ to us_._ Many sorrows. It is unthinkable." She tried to imagine Merril here, trapped under guard and away from the trees and dirt and water of nature, and had the vaguely amusing image of her burning this entire structure to the ground with a manic expression on her face.

Teasingly, (because what else could they do but speak of nothing?) the tall mage grinned, "Does that make me slightly better then your everyday shem, then?"

She stared at him a long moment before shaking her head, amused. "Perhaps," Lyna allowed. "But just barely."

"It's a start." He looked forward then, and Lyna had to follow his gaze when it went wider.

With her back to them, she was very obviously transparent, though Lyna could clearly see Azalia's shape. Rather belatedly, much to her chagrin, Lyna also realized the sounds of battle had stopped completely and the tower itself had gone eerily silent.

"Should we be able to see her?" she wondered, not really directing it to the tall mage in particular so much as asking anyone who could answer her inquiry.

"Either we suddenly got the second sight or the Veil has torn further. The more damage to the Veil and the farther it rips, the more visible the spirits become to even non-magical people." With a pensive look, he shouted, "Azalia!"

"_What?"_ She spun, her voice a mere whisper in the air but clearly audible. Lyna was on her feet seconds before the shemlen mage, her fingers rubbing at the pounding in her temple. _"Uh oh."_

"Yeah," Lyna groaned. "Uh oh. Something's gone wrong. You." She pointed at the red-haired mage who spun around, looking at her questioningly. "Watch them." She motioned vaguely to the handful of mages milling around, tired and quickly losing hope of getting out alive. To the tall mage, she said, "You come with me."

"Yes ma'am!" Though he grinned cheekily and saluted as he said it, the expression didn't quite reach his eyes.

"_I'll come with you."_ Azalia's spirit moved slowly, as if chained, glaring pointedly at her when Lyna opened her mouth to tell her not to bother. What could she do as a spirit, anyway? _"I'm not sure if it's because I'm nothing but a spirit, but I can sense the remaining demons strongly. Elena and Alistair seem to have killed the majority of their numbers, but there are two really big bad asses left. I can't do anything magic wise that would be useful, but I CAN warn you when they're close."_

"Fine. Just keep up." The idea of running blindly into one of those abomination things made her skin crawl. "I want to get out of here and get this done as soon as possible."

The tall mage snorted, shouldering his staff while Azalia just shot her a look. _"You're telling me? Try being a disembodied spirit with your survival hinging on the success of the world's dopiest failed templar/last Grey Warden in Ferelden…aside from myself."_

Lyna just shook her head. There just wasn't anything to say to that.

They made it all the way up to the fourth floor templar quarters with no trouble – obviously, said dopey templar had been very thorough in clearing out the demons and abominations. Corpses of deformed mages were everywhere, though if the tall shem or Azalia knew any of them, they didn't say. Once they hit the fourth floor Azalia stopped them, however, pointing at the first door to the right that was slightly ajar.

"_Big trouble is behind there."_ Eyes narrowed, she said after a moment. _"Sloth demon…tricky bastard."_

"There's a powerful spell in effect there," the tall mage said as well, his eyes narrowed. "I can't tell what it is though. You'd think if they're going to disrupt the party, they'd at least let us know what it is."

Lyna stared at them both, irritated. Fighting things like this was really getting on her nerves. "So, bottom line being _'Screwed we do, screwed we don't'?"_

Both nodded. "Yep." _"Pretty much."_

Growling, bow drawn and arrow ready to fly, Lyna kicked the door open hard enough that it rebounded off the wall and nearly caught her in the face. She vaguely caught sight of Elena's body on the ground, crumpled, and shot at the massive _ugly_ thing in front of her, but the wave of fatigue hit her hard, and she was out before her body ever hit the ground.

* * *

**A/N: Anders is back! Well, at least for this chapter and the next...two, I think. And Zevran finally comes! Though romance has been all but non existent, it actually will start showing up more form here on out. If you squint, you can see hints of it before now, but yeah...anyway, I will be handling the whole Fade much differently then the game. Just a warning. They get out the same way (Kill sloth, etc.), but as this story focuses on the girls, it will be their dreams and how (or who) they break free. Also will wrap up the Circle Tower storyline before back to Redcliffe we go!**

**As always, I welcome feedback and hope this story remains enjoyable.**

**~SRD  
**


	9. Such a Lovely Dream

**Chapter Nine**

_Such a Lovely Dream_

* * *

She wasn't sure _what_ to expect when she awoke, but this sure wasn't it.

Grimacing, Lyna sat up in the bed she was in, covered in a soft fur pelt. It was an aravel…one she was intimately familiar with, considering it was Ashalle's. Distantly, she could hear the crackle of the camp fire and the faint chattering of the halla, and the hearty smell of venison stew that made her mouth water. _Home,_ she thought, and all the energy drained out of her as she felt like crying in relief. _It was all a dream._

She really _did_ cry when Tamlen's all too familiar face appeared as the aravel's flap was brushed aside, his happy expression turning to outright panic when she busted into uncharacteristic tears. "Lethallan!" He stuttered and blinked, unsure what to do as he came in and immediately sat down next to her, the warmth of his skin as he put his arm around her so tangible she could feel it send familiar shivers down her spine. "I…I thought you'd be _happy_," he said somewhat desperately, stricken.

"Of course I am!" she snapped, punching him hard enough on his arm that he nearly fell off her bed. "_Nehn numin!"_

Tamlen still looked hopelessly confused and she could see Fenarel stick his head in briefly before what sounded like Merril dragged him away by the ear. It made Lyna chuckle until she heard her sister (in all the ways that counted) say, "Leave them be! Their _uthmelana_ was just last night! I'm sure they want to be _alone _for a little this morning…"

_Uthmelana?_ She blinked, startled out of her tears, and glanced at her hand that did, indeed, have a fine gold band laden with a small inscription engraved into it. _Uth emma lath. Forever my love._ Still frozen, she stared at Tamlen's hand that was draped over her shoulders, holding her close and noticed the same band on his finger as well. Traditionally, a bonded pair who'd had their _uthmelana_ – the eternal time ceremony that was the shemlen's equivalent of a wedding – wore bands inscribed with their own personal vows on their fingers for the ceremony and the following day, in which they would celebrate the bonding with their clan, before usually wearing them around their necks so that they would always remain near their hearts. But they…Tamlen had never…

"Uthmelana?" she said faintly, and Lyna could _feel_ the heat rising from her neck and up towards her ears.

"I _told_ Junar not to give you that much of the ceremonial wine," he sighed, though his bright elven blue eyes twinkled in barely concealed amusement. He was so close and Lyna could _smell_ the scent of pine and leather that was always so…_him_ and raised her hand to trace one of the lines of his vallaslin near his lips tentatively. Was it all one horrible dream? A trick of the mind by Fen'Harel in her dreams? All that stuff of Blights, the life debt…

"Perhaps you are right," she murmured, smiling when he brought his own hand up and tentatively mimicked her own touch. Leaning her forehead against his, she breathed in the familiar smells, listened to the familiar sounds, and closed her eyes as she let the tension melt from her shoulders. "It just seems like…like a dream."

"Such a lovely dream you have, then," he whispered, his breath tickling her nose before he placed the barest of kisses to it, making Lyna smile wider. "Now we must go, before Ashalle storms into the aravel and drags us both out by the ears like the errant children we were."

She laughed, barely managing to grab her bow (mostly from habit) before he pulled her outside.

The entire clan let out a cheer (and several hoots) when they saw them, Tamlen's pale skin turning as red as her own before Lyna forced her head to remain high even as Fenarel and Junar teased them with the most ribald jokes they could think of. Ashalle couldn't stop beaming, practically dancing as she showed her the aravel that would be theirs. She and Tamlen would have the day to turn the plain, empty husk of a vehicle into something more personal with the help of their family – their clan – before everything would go back to normal tomorrow and they would simply be bonded hunters of Clan Marethari.

Merril waylaid her at one point after lunch, giggling and congratulating her again after lunch while laughing about how Tamlen had been so _silly_ to wait so long on asking the Keeper to bond with her. Lyna nodded, but mentally she frowned. Why could she not remember her own engagement? Her own _bonding_, for that matter? She would never forget that! Not after all the none-too-subtle-hints she recalled dropping him in the past years. Hints Tamlen _hadn't gotten._

And Junar…he came up shortly after Merril, beaming and giving her a kiss on the cheek before telling her how happy he was for them both. While that certainly wasn't odd, she saw nothing else in his eyes as he said this. Lyna wasn't blind. She'd known for some time of the one-sided crush Junar had on her. While she'd made it clear that she couldn't return his affections, and he'd understood why, there was always that little bit of sadness in his eyes whenever he spoke with her after that. He was not a guy who let go of anything easily, after all. Things had gotten better, but she still saw it. _Fenarel_ saw it, for crying out loud, and he could be denser then steel about such things.

_I should be happy,_ she reminded herself, biting her lip in her and Tamlen's aravel while staring at her ring. _All I can think about though is how this is WRONG. Something is WRONG._

"Something wrong?" The flap was pushed aside and Tamlen entered _their_ home, his face worried as he knelt in front of her. "You've been distracted all day. I might be a bit slow, but I've noticed."

"Yes," she whispered, and Lyna stared at his eyes, looking for…something. Anything. Something to quell her fears that something about this whole day was wrong. It was then that she saw the spark – the flicker of an echo in her head of a voice that kept singing, almost like a lullaby, but in a voice that made her blood run cold. Running her hand gently down Tamlen's cheek, his skin absurdly soft for a man, Lyna swallowed and closed her eyes, her other hand drifting to her side where she always kept one dagger hidden. "Something's very wrong."

Lyna screamed her fury as blood arched in the air, the illusion shattering and leaving her in the still and silent world of the Fade that was varying tones of dull sepia compared to the lovely colors of forest and home that she ached for like a wound ripped open. Her heart bled for a love she ached to see with renewed longing that had become tolerable in the past weeks; the image of a man she'd stabbed through the jugular with her own dagger, however imaginary he was, with an expression she would never forget.

"Son of a _bitch!_" Lyna snarled, looking around. All she saw was endless sky and other floating islands in the distance, the wind sounding more like haunting laughter then anything peaceful.

* * *

It was such a lovely dream, Azalia thought with a saddened pang in her chest. But it was all it was. A dream.

Her father's face shattered as the illusion dissolved and she sighed, eyeing the Fade in renewed annoyance. The demon's spell had sent her back into the Fade, but little else. She'd known it was just a dream from the beginning and found herself even _more_ annoyed then before. And there was still that stupid desire demon to deal with. She could feel her presence distantly, as if she was far away in the vast expanse that was the dreaming realm. Unsurprising, seeing as she was in a realm ruled by a sloth demon. One demon per realm, else they tended to fight with each other until one eventually dominated. Not even demons could escape that.

She watched as the Fade Pedestal up ahead glowed, signaling someone was coming and sighed. With so many of them lost in here, she'd figured someone would find her eventually. Best to stay in one spot, or so her mother had always told her.

She nearly laughed when she saw it was Anders.

"The entertainment arrives," she grinned sitting down against one of the many weird and pointy rock formations.

"Aw, and here I was prepared to do the whole knight in shining armor bit and everything," he pouted before sighing his relief. "I had it all down and everything. Shatter the lovely dream, wake you up, and run to save the next damsel in distress and hope to needle a kiss out of them as a reward."

"Can't wake me up yet, anyway," she sighed. Biting her lip, she looked at him with an impish smile. "Maybe if you go with them to Redcliffe I can give you that kiss after all, though."

Anders arched an eyebrow, intrigued. "_Really_ now? Even more reason to escape then." With a sigh, he sat down next to her, his staff resting next to him. "I woke Wynne, that dopey templar, and the Antivan guy. You do _not_ want to know what his dream was. _I_ don't even want to know and I _saw_ it! Kind of wish I could _un-see it_, actually…"

"I'm really going to have to ask Elena how he came about, anyway," she mused. "He wasn't with us in Redcliffe. She must've picked him up on the way to the Circle."

"So you're really…alright?" Anders said it lightly, but she could see the heaviness in his eyes as he asked. Too much death did that to people. She'd seen it on enough faces in Lothering after Ostagar and didn't particularly enjoying seeing it on Anders' face either.

"I'm fine." She scooted closer so she could lean her head on his shoulder, smiling when she felt his arm come up and hold her shoulder. "I'm out of the desire demon's realm for now, so she can't reach me yet. This one…well, once Elena gets woken up you guys can go kick his ass and then go save Irving. I'll stay here in the Fade and wait for you all to go kick the desire demon's ass and then I can come back and maybe give you that kiss you're so desperate for."

He laughed deep in his chest, and she felt his head rest against the top of hers as he sighed in relief. "I'm glad you're not dead," he confided, as if that were some secret. "I forgot how amusing you can be."

"You should join us then," Azalia laughed. "It's a riot a minute…when we're not getting framed for regicide and treason or killing darkspawn, anyway."

"I…think not." Anders shook his head slightly. "When it comes to darkspawn, I like to make it my policy to run _away_ from them when possible. Ugly critters. Ran into a few on my last foray into the world outside of our little prison and if I ever do again it'll be too soon."

"You're loss," she chuckled, and Azalia could even admit to being a tiny bit disappointed, too. She missed having him around to talk to. Morrigan was great fun, but her humor had a cynical and derisive edge to it all the time. Anders' sense of humor always left her laughing until her side hurt…mostly, anyway. The fact that he was always a pleasure to look at didn't hurt, either. Though in that regard, the Antivan wasn't so bad either…

"It's funny," he mused after a long silence. "I always said I'd love to see the Tower razed to the ground, but now that it just might be done, I don't want it to. Brings a tear to my eye."

Azalia couldn't hold her snort. "I don't suppose you being _inside the tower_ at the moment has anything to do with this uncharacteristic reticence to see this place burn…?"

"You're such a cynic," he teased. "Is this what your new freedom did for you?"

Azalia thought of Loghain, the bastard, and of the legend-loving King Cailan whose body was rotting on the filth covered grounds of Ostagar. "Nah," she sighed. "That's what the Blight did. The freedom after ten years just made me puke on Elena's boots."

* * *

Elena sighed blissfully as she sank into the warm bath water that had been drawn from her, the smell of Antivan apples wafting faintly in the air in honor of the coming Harvest Day celebration. Highever was alight and bustling, the servants hurrying to clean the castle for the upcoming ball that night, as well as the festivities to be held in the field and courtyard tomorrow afternoon. She could hear Udia snapping orders, taking charge as she was prone to do, and Damyan running on errands her father had him doing with brief stops just to make Udia wasn't stressing herself needlessly.

After last night's nightmare, she was glad to hear their familiar voices. Fergus had thought she was insane when she awoke in her bed, only to scream when she saw her father. She saw him lying in a pool of his own blood in the kitchen larder, but Elena shook the image from her head. It was all just one horrendously bad dream.

"Almost done, Elena?" Celia called, her smile bright and cheerful as ever when she peaked in twenty minutes later. "I got you the red, crème, and brown gown. It'll go lovely with the scent of the oil." In a quiet, conspiratorial tone she giggled, "I know the arl's ward certainly likes it on you."

"Which one?" she wondered, genuinely confused. An arl was coming to visit today? It6 wasn't unheard of considering, but unexpected. She hadn't realized.

"Arl Eamon of Redcliffe, of course!" Celia huffed, exasperated. "I fear the steam has gone to your head, Elena. His ward, Ser Alistair; the one who always makes eyes at you when they come calling!"

"Alistair…?" she frowned slightly, rubbing her temple. She felt like she was missing something, but her head hurt the more she tried to think. "The templar?"

Now it was Celia who looked at her, confused. "Templar? No…he's head of Arl Eamon's knights! Surely you remember the ceremony? We were all there."

She _didn't_ remember it though. It was strange, considering she didn't forget anything. If anyone could use some memory loss, Fergus always joked, it was her. "I…" Holding her head, she shook it once. "I guess my dream last night bothered me more then I thought."

Concerned, Celia held out the towel for her as she got out of the tub and frowned thoughtfully. "Fen'Harel stalks your dreams," she said ominously, sounding disturbingly like her father. "I can have papae make a charm for you – to ward off his influence, if you like."

Elena just shook her head though. Damyan had enough to do without worrying about her dreams, of all things.

She passed her mother at one point outside, speaking to Lady Landra who smiled and greeted her warmly. With a kiss to her cheek and another none-too-subtle reminder of her desire for more grandchildren while she was young enough to enjoy them, Elena went off to find her father, laughing as a couple of the guards whistled appreciatively as she passed. It earned them some reproachful looks, but Elena was far too used to it. So long as they never got out of hand with it, her father had never seen the harm in letting boys be boys…at least when _he_ wasn't around to see it. She didn't, either, and it did wonders for a girl's confidence to be reminded daily that she was desirable.

That she could also kick their asses if necessary was truly just a bonus.

"There she is!" her father beamed when she entered the main hall, arms held wide open to receive the hug she readily gave him. He was warm and smelled of the same scents – wood smoke and Antivan brandy – that inexplicably made her want to cry. _Why would smelling them make me want to cry? Honestly, Elena…_

"Milady," Arl Eamon smiled good naturedly, bowing. "You remember Ser Alistair?" He motioned to the knight who was standing stiffly beside him, obviously ill at ease.

Elena stared at his face – a handsome one, no less – and frowned again as she got images of horribly gnarled creatures. _Darkspawn?_ She'd never seen the creatures before, yet she knew that to be them. "Yes," she nodded, her voice faint. "A pleasure."

"Yes," he said, his expression sad. "You need to wake up, Elena."

Her head snapped up. "I beg your pardon?"

Beside her, her father laughed. "What are you talking about, Ser Alistair? She is awake…as are we all."

But he shook his head, firmly. "No, she's not." To her father, he said bluntly, "You aren't her father, either."

"Of course I am," he insisted, sounding annoyed, and looking towards Eamon who was…_glaring?_ That wasn't right. Arl Eamon was as genial as nobles came. He didn't _glare_. He manipulated and coerced like the rest of them, but he never glared. "Can you not see you are distressing my daughter?"

"Papae," she murmured – staring at Alistair's light brown eyes that kept saying something…silently pleading with her. "You remember your pet name for me?"

Confused, Teyrn Bryce Cousland nodded. "Of course, Princess. What is this about?"

_Princess._ "Alistair?" She looked at him, her chest tight, and silently plead with him. _I can't do it. Please…I can't strike him down._

Three quick strides and a flash of his blade and the fake image of her father fell, his head flying off as the fake Eamon drew a sword on them as well that Alistair took down with a single swing. Highever Castle faded around them after and Elena bit her lip, eyes closing as she tried to rid her mind of the very real feeling of having her parents back with her again. _But it was all just a dream…_

"I dreamt of my sister," Alistair said to her quietly, a hand on her shoulder comfortingly. "She's remarried and working in Denerim. I've thought of contacting her, but…my dream…I didn't want it to be false. I wanted to believe in it just as much as you did."

"It felt so…real," she whispered. Emotions roiled beneath her skin, though she grasped on – tightly – to the anger mostly. Anger was good. She could use that. The sadness could be dealt with later, once everything else was dealt with.

"The Fade is like that, or so the mage said," he shrugged. "I mean, he would know, right? We've got a path cleared. Now all we have to do is kill the Sloth demon and we should wake up, according to him."

"Let's get out of here then." Rubbing her arms, Elena held tightly to that anger, wrapping it around her like a cloak. _That demon is as good as dead, damn it._ "I have the desire to kick some sloth ass."

"Well, it's a sloth demon, right?" Alistair mused out loud, following her. "Maybe he'll just surrender since it's too troublesome to fight. You think? No? Oh well…"

* * *

Uldred was no laughing matter.

Lyna grimaced as she was backhanded and smashed head first into the stone walls, pain blossoming all over. The abominations had been dealt with, leaving only Uldred, and the remaining mages were being protected by the Litany of Adralla that Elena kept saying ritually as she fought with her dual blades, the templar right beside her and shielding her from the bulk of the spiky-looking abomination's hits. Farther back, the mages kept them all in fighting shape – a fact punctuated as she felt the throbbing pain ebb away and a shot of energy run through her veins like fire. Grabbing her blades that had fallen, Lyna ran right back into the fray, all the while musing how, once this thing was dead, she was going to dive head first into that damn lake.

She felt _disgusting._

Filth was clinging to her bared skin and for once she seriously considered changing to a different armor…her Dalish armor was fine for the forests, but any more of this trudging through muck stuff and she was going to scratch her skin right off. Even the unpleasant feeling left behind after just talking to that Antivan flat-ear was preferable to this!

Speaking of the Antivan…he flickered in and out of sight, becoming visible only when he was striking at the abomination who _just wouldn't die._ Lyna aimed viciously for his abdomen, her sword tasting skin, and jumped out of range before he could hit her again. He was all but impervious to magic, but he was weak in melee combat. It was the Antivan who'd actually noticed it first, and she was inexplicably annoyed that she hadn't noticed sooner. Uldred was slow to counter up close, though if he _did_ hit you it was enough to give you a concussion.

_There._ It was miniscule, but he opened himself up as he turned to try and knock the brains (what he had, anyway) out of the Antivan. Lyna dove for it, sword and dagger poised, and sunk them both into his spiky neck, ripping the blades out on either side and cutting him off mid-roar as he fell forward, her knee pressed into his back as she went with him, his head held on by only a tiny flap of flesh once he hit the floor.

Silence fell upon them except for the heavy breathing of those in the chamber. Shrugging, Lyna dislodged her weapons with a yank and a foot on his back, cleaning them off on what remained of his human robes that had been shredded when he turned from grouchy shemlen to spiky abomination. She'd clean them better later.

"Irving! Thank the Maker…" The older mage, Wynne, rushed over to help the old guy who was groaning and trying to stand with only partial success once the Antivan untied him.

"Ugh…" He leaned heavily on her, one hand to his back as he hobbled slightly. "I'm getting too old for this," he droned with a bit of dry humor that made Elena chuckle from her spot where the tall mage was healing her. The other mage who'd been tied up with him immediately went to heal the templar, though she did notice his eyes flicker her way briefly. Between the two of them, however, the not-so-silly shemlen was worse off and thus more in need of treatment then her.

"We must get back to Gregoir…let him know the Tower is secured again," Wynne was saying, their heads instinctively tilted together as they spoke.

"Yes…I imagine we have little time to spare." The old mage groaned again, shaking his head as she helped him down the first of the steps. "Hn…who ever had the bright idea of making this a tower…?"

"We'll catch up," Elena told her when she glanced her way, motioning to Alistair and herself. "Go with them…just in case there are any we missed."

There weren't, as it was, and they eventually managed to make it back down to the first floor uneventfully. The red-haired mage and the few they'd left there cried out in relief when they saw the old enchanter, his gait normal once again as he was able to at least walk without assistance by then.

"Many more are in the Circle store rooms with Senior Enchanter Leorah," he told them. "Go let them know it is safe again."

The mages rushed off, dispersing, and the Orlesian bard clapped her hands in delight when she saw them round the corner. The witch just looked at the old man and shook her head, moving aside while the bard knocked on the doors and told the crotchety templar behind them that the First Enchanter was here.

To say the gray haired templar looked shocked was an understatement. "Maker's breath, it is good to see you again, Irving."

"Oh, I'm sure we'll be at each other's throats again in no time and you'll be saying differently, Gregoir…" he chuckled, as if conversing with an old friend. For all she knew, they were. "The tower is under control again."

"And the Wardens…?"

"We're here!" Elena piped up, limping in with a little help from the tall mage. Alistair – that was the templar's name, wasn't it? – hobbled right behind her, helped by the other mage from the top floor. "Those who remain are…indentifying the remains."

In a few tersely barked orders, the templars milling around the main hall ran out to do the same, and the Knight-Commander shook his head as if he couldn't believe it was all actually over.

"Now that it's over," Elena said in what Lyna thought of as her 'shemlen noble' voice, taking the treaty Alistair wordless handed her with a grin on his face. "There's this problem in Redcliffe and the matter of aid against the Blight we need to discuss…"

* * *

**_A/N: I feel bad for doing that to them. I love Anders. I don't think I can say that enough. Heh. Next up we go back to Redcliffe!_**

**_As always, feedback is appreciated and encouraged. No, really, please? I'm a glutton for such things. =)  
_**


	10. Special Chapter: Azalia

_**When I tried to figure out what it was that might have brought Anders and Azalia together (other then having them be lovers, which I actually wanted to avoid), this little piece came to be. The first prompt on a "100 theme" list I created a few years ago for my own entertainment inspired this, which was "Dogs". Since Azalia is just turning 10, it would make Anders about 15 in this.  
**_

_**Enjoy!**_

**

* * *

**

**_Chocolate & Dogs_**

_A "Warden Trilogy" Short_

* * *

On her seventh birthday, while she and her father were in town running errands with the teyrn, he asked her the simple question of what she wanted for a present. Teyrn Cousland was nice, after all, as were all the Couslands, and while Azalia knew of the poor conditions her kind suffered in alienages, it had always been a foreign concept to her. Bryce Cousland paid all his servants well and while they were by no means extravagant, papae always had enough silver to get her little trinkets that caught her fancy on special occasions.

And it was her birthday today_._

"I want that," she declared in a loud, clear voice that made even the teyrn pause during their walk through Highever's busy market to look and see what she was pointing towards. Though she called him "Lord Cousland" like a servant was supposed to in public, he was more like an overly indulgent uncle to her – an image he privately encouraged in the form of small treats he snuck her before dinner behind her mother's back and lavish gifts on her birthday that made even her father grumble about how he was going to spoil her something rotten. She played with Elena and Fergus all the time as if she were any other child and not elven and _different_. If anyone called her a 'knife-ear' within hearing distance of any Cousland, let alone the teyrn, she pitied the poor sod that dared and usually never saw them again after that.

It was, admittedly, very easy to feel spoiled.

Papae would not let her, however. Papae drilled in her constantly how they should always be thankful the teyrn was the way he was and how, so very easily, things could be so very different for them. Azalia saw the alternative in the trips he always took her on to the alienage every week; the filthy squalor others lived in that always made her uncomfortable and eager to go home to her small but comfortable room in the castle. Highever's alienage was one of the nicer kept because the teyrn was a fair-minded man, but she knew enough of how things ran to know not all the money allotted to the alienage's upkeep went to it. It went through too many people – too many hands – and it was far too easy to make a sovereign here disappear and a few silvers go to there while the teyrn was so busy and unable to micro-manage where every bit of money went. "Lost in Transition", papae called it.

So Azalia had a great deal of modesty ingrained into her as well; she never asked for outrageous things whenever her father had the money to get her something. Last year, she'd asked him for a pretty knife she'd seen in the stall of a merchant. Mother had been showing her the beginnings of a rogue's way and while she was still too small to carry a dagger, a knife was serviceable and practical. Though he'd cautioned her not to let anyone see it, he'd bought it for her and she kept it in her boot just like she knew he did his own. It came in handy, too, during expeditions into the woods with Elena and Fergus.

This year, there was only one thing she wanted. As papae followed her arm to where she was gesturing, she watched his eyes go wide under his scraggly black hair that she'd been blessed with before casting an accusing glare at the teyrn who gave a deep, rumbling laugh as he through his head back in amusement. "Lord Cousland…"

Even the pair of guards accompanying them for the teyrn's protection snickered behind their helms. Highever's guard force was, of course, far too used to such mannerisms between her father and the teyrn to be concerned over a glare. "We _are_ in Ferelden," one of them muttered, and Azalia's ears twitched as she turned to stare at him confusedly. What did being in Ferelden have anything to do with it? In her mind, it was simply a most practical request.

"Tis' every child's wish, Damyan," the teyrn chuckled, and he grinned down at her as well while ruffling her hair and making her nose wrinkle. It was a nice gesture, but it also meant mamae would use that horrible comb to yank out the tangles tonight. "Fergus was five when he first asked for the very same thing and Elena even younger. If anything, Little Zali here is late in asking for it."

Her father stared at the stall dourly, obviously uncomforted. "Surely there might be something else you wish, _dalen…?"_

But Azalia shook her head, decisive in a manner not unlike mamae when she refused to let her sleep in ten more minutes in the morning. "I want a puppy," she stated again, and pointed to the kennels where several young, strapping Mabari hounds yipped excitedly as people passed by, stub tails wagging so hard their entire butts moved with them. Fergus had gotten one four years ago, a male hound he'd named Dane, and Azalia had been fascinated ever since. They were so _smart_, after all, and Elena had also gotten one recently that she was still figuring a name for. And Fergus said it was a Fereldan tradition…a rite of passage into young adulthood for any self respecting warrior or rogue.

She told her father as much when he still looked reluctant and Azalia blinked when it only sent the teyrn and the two guards into more fits of stifled laughter.

"Very well, dalen," he sighed, "but you must realize it is not we who choose them. It is the Mabari who choose their owners and there is a chance they may not…take to you."

Which is why, when they got back to the castle just before nightfall, she was sniffling and puffy-eyed and hiccuping every few seconds despite being confronted with a small celebratory dinner to honor her birthday.

"What did you do?" Mamae demanded as Papae kept shaking his head and sighing while the teyrn patted his shoulder sympathetically before going to greet the teyrna who was obviously just as curious about why she was so upset.

"I just asked her what she wanted for her birthday, Udia, like always," he said desperately.

Mamae nodded, obviously not comprehending. "Yes, yes, so why is she sniffling and sobbing as if her favorite pet died?"

"She wanted a _dog_," he sighed in exasperation. "A Mabari. Only…"

The request obviously made sense to mamae, or she simply wasn't surprised. You could never tell with her. Mamae was very good at hiding her thoughts - so much so that she knew it drove papae crazy sometimes. "Only…?"

Papae's voice lowered, obviously hoping she wouldn't hear him, but Azalia had _very_ good hearing – all from listening at doors too much, mamae usually said with a hint of disapproval. How else would she learn things, though? Adults never spoke of anything in front of children like her…even if, as papae once mentioned, their kind were never truly kids. They were just very small and very young adults mostly. "None of them wanted her."

* * *

It was not long after that, Azalia remembered with a bittersweet smile on the day of her birth, that she went to go play in the grasslands just outside the castle gates with Fergus and Elena. It was the day when, after Fergus teased her about said incident, they all found out she really _could_ burn his hair off…or at least his eyebrows, which she felt vaguely bad about now. She remembered how horrible her father had felt for weeks because she'd been so upset over the dog incident and who'd promised her that very morning that Nan had promised to make her favorite stew for dinner that night. She'd left to play in high spirits…she'd just never returned.

"Oh, sorry." The voice interrupting her thoughts made her turn, and Azalia shook her head and beckoned the mage who'd stumbled upon her in her favorite spot of the otherwise joyless tower to join her. Suddenly, being alone on her tenth birthday didn't seem like such a good idea after all. She should of let Jowan come with her when he'd asked. The apprentice who'd come upon her eyed the purloined chocolate in her hand curiously, a faintly curious expression on his face. Azalia vaguely recognized him from her dormitory, though she didn't know his name. He was the one they'd brought in two years ago that usually spent his spare time trying piss off the templars or escape the tower. It didn't earn him any friends really since she'd very quickly learned no one wanted to give the templars an excuse to stick closer to them then was necessary. While some were half-way decent human beings, there were some who you never wanted to give a reason to get anywhere near you.

And never, _ever_ at night.

"Want some?" She held out the bar, spirited away during kitchen duty with the indulging twitch of First Enchanter Irving's lip. He knew the day and had turned a blind eye to her thievery just this once. "It's suddenly lost some of its taste for me."

"Perish that thought," he gasped, dark eyes twinkling under his mop of long light brown hair that hung free to his shoulders. Not many mages kept long hair, so it was odd but somehow fitting. "Chocolate can _never_ lose its taste!" He punctuated his statement by making absurd faces as he savored the rare delicacy, licking his fingers clean as well. "So what's the occasion?"

Azalia looked out the window and towards the horizon haloed by the moonlight, sighing. "My birthday."

She was expecting a half-hearted well wish or some platitude; very few knew their birthdays in the tower and couldn't quite relate to what was so special about them. She didn't expect the human boy a few years older then her to jump up and grab her hands, his eyes wide and his lips stretched into a wide chocolate-smudged grin.

"So you know it?" he asked excitedly, practically giddy. "You know what it's like, then…what I mean? _You know what's out there._"

Azalia nodded, a piece of the puzzle surrounding this older boy becoming clear. The mages who remembered their lives prior to the tower could be counted on both her hands; the number who came from pleasant circumstances on one. As someone who'd come from a home where her parents loved her _and_ a place where she'd always been well treated despite being an elf, Azalia had been desperate to find someone who understood her despair in the beginning, too. Someone who _understood._ It had been maddening that no one had, not even Jowan, and irritating beyond all belief that she only got eyed like a lunatic as she kept trying to fight to leave…to go home.

"Yeah," she nodded, "I know."

The human let out a small whoop, an invisible weight seemingly lifted off his shoulders. Relief, probably, of finding someone who could relate to his frustration. _Not alone._

"I'm Anders," he grinned, all boyish charm that would certainly make some of the other girls blush and giggle. He had that way about him. "I ended up here because I shot lightning at some fools in Denerim."

"Azalia." With a self-depreciating smile she said, "I'm in here because I didn't get a dog."

Anders stared at her oddly, but she never did clarify it for him. Azalia did smile at him, however, and those invisible weights lessened on her own shoulders infinitesimally as they spoke well into the night of green grass and fresh baked pies and the simple feeling of _freedom_ they'd never known could exist until they'd been put here.

He always remembered her birthday from that day on and never let her celebrate it alone again…but then, Azalia didn't really want to after that, either.

It was nice to be able to share the pain of missing her family on those days, if only a little.

* * *

**_So there you have it. A small glimpse into Azalia's life pre-tower and a look at how she and Anders came to be how they are._**

**_Like it? Hate it? Let me know!_**

**_~SRD  
_**


	11. Plans, Plans, and More Plans

**Chapter Ten**

_Plans, Plans, and More Plans  
_

* * *

The minute they stepped into Redcliffe Castle, the small contingent of mages and templars right behind them, the relief was downright _palpable_. Elena offered a small, reassuring smile to Teagan who nodded in response.

Then, of course, one of the templars marched up to where Azalia's body was laying and drew out his sword.

"_What are you doing?" _she demanded, furious as she stormed over. Lethallin was growling at his spot near her legs, mollified somewhat when Sten systematically disarmed him and sent him sprawling on his ass.

"She might wake up possessed," the templar in charge of the small contingent was saying, his expression firm in his belief. "It's standard protocol just in case. After the tower, I'm not taking any chances. Now kindly call off your mercenary, milady."

She wanted to smack that pompous expression off his face, but there was also a mild crisis where Jowan was. Obviously, they'd noticed his appearance and remembered him. She did not, however, call off Sten who seemed more then happy to make sure the templar didn't get twitchy-fingered with Azalia's neck so close to his blade.

First Enchanter Irving was facing Jowan, the templar beside him had his sword drawn, and the healer Anders – who had been _reluctantly_ allowed to accompany them – was standing between them, the tip of that sword somewhere around his chest since he was much taller then the femininely small Jowan.

"I'm not saying I think blood magic is great, am I?" Anders snapped, glaring at the templar whose blade inched higher until the tip was level with the tall mage's neck.

"Enough," the First Enchanter said, his voice full of authority, and the templar near him reluctantly let his blade drop. He did not, however, sheathe it. "We will deal with him later. Right now, we must decide who goes into the fade to slay the demon and free our sister." He glanced, rather pointedly, to where Azalia was.

Anders glanced that way as well and Elena watched the expression that crossed his face carefully. He was _not_ happy. It also confirmed to her that this was not unusual for the mages. It bugged her more then she'd have liked to think that having a blade pointed at them was actually _common._

"You sure?" he said dryly to Irving, staring pointedly at the templar holding Azalia's body. "Looks to me like they've already made a decision about her."

"It is…necessary," he sighed, sounding old and tired. It also didn't seem like this was the first time they were having this particular conversation. Anders snorted, disbelieving, but didn't press the issue. Turning towards her, Irving rumbled, "Lady Cousland, it is you who saved our tower and sought our aid. Did you have someone in mind that you wished to send into the Fade for this task?"

"Yes." She'd had an idea all along and, quite frankly, she suspected Azalia would say the same. Turning to the mage in question, she said firmly, "Jowan is going."

"What?" he squeaked. "Me? But I…"

"Tis' a step towards redeeming yourself," she reminded him.

"It's not a wise decision," Irving warned her, his face hard as he stared at the nervous mage. "He's a maleficar, milady. To send one to a demon…"

"I'm aware of what he is," she said a tad stiffly, irritated. "I am also aware of what he has done and the connection maleficar have to demons. It is for this reason I want to send him. He is at least partly responsible for what has happened here and he is the one who shall fix it." If she had her way, Lady Isolde would be the one fixing this, but that wasn't possible.

"I…" He still looked dreadfully nervous, his hands wringing, but Jowan nodded after a moment. "If you think it's best. I'd be glad for the chance to do something right."

"You're her friend," Elena said quietly, equal parts prayer and warning. Confident as she sounded, she _was_ nervous. She'd heard too many horror stories of blood magic not to be unnerved, though to be honest it was only the mind control part that bothered her. "Azalia trusts you. For your sake, it best not be misplaced."

* * *

Lyna watched the skittish mage drop to the ground with a shake of her head, bemused. "I thought it would be flashier," she said dryly, aware that the tall mage from the tower was listening from his spot against the wall on the other side of the door. Apparently, she wasn't the only one who didn't trust the twitchy-looking templar. Even _Alistair_ stood nearby, eyeing the man as if he were prepared to tackle him if he moved to slit her throat prematurely. He was too stiff – too agitated.

"I know. Disappointing, right? At least a brilliant flash of light or something…but no. Just touch the lyrium, pass out, and pray you don't crack your skull open when you hit the ground." Snidely, he clipped out, "Can't forget the sword ever-poised to slit your throat, too. That's always fun when they have shaky hands."

She grunted, glaring at the templar who was watching the unconscious mage too intently for her liking. After what she'd seen at the mage tower, she couldn't blame him, but it was exactly why Lyna didn't think it wise to have him holding a sword to Azalia's throat. He was traumatized – she could see it – and motioned to Alistair with her head. Silly as she believed he was, the big blonde goof ball had a good head on his shoulders. Apparently, he just _chose_ to appear silly most of the time.

Alistair glanced and saw what she did as well, apparently, walking over. "I will do it," he said, not giving him an option as he grasped his shoulder. "Stand down, Ser Miles."

"She'll turn…" he whispered, his voice shaky despite the steadiness of his hand. "Like all the rest, she will. She'll turn and…"

Lyna pushed off the wall the same time the tall mage did.

"Move him," the tall mage snapped, but Alistair was already doing so.

Not, however, before the templar's blade managed to slit skin.

Lyna spat and punched him as he was roughly pulled away, knocking him out while the tall mage barked out the old woman mage's name. Though she knew next to nothing about healing, she knew it wasn't good. Superficial injuries didn't bleed _that_ much. "What did he do?" she snapped.

The older woman was the one who answered, frowning fiercely as her hands glowed with that eerie light. "It nicked her jugular…not badly, but…"

She didn't need to hear anymore. Lyna withdrew her bow and notched an arrow from her quiver, aiming it directly at the unconscious templar's head.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Alistair stood in front of him, hands up. "What are you doing?"

"She dies, then so does he," she said with lethal decisiveness, eyes narrowing. She still had a shot even with where he was standing, though it would be quite unnerving for him to have an arrow shot so close to between his legs. His fault, she mused, but still. He'd actually impressed her during that whole tower mess and she'd hate to see that ruined.

Distantly, she heard Elena verbally ripping the templar in charge to shreds. How the old man in charge of the mages could be attempting to _pacify _Elena, of all things, befuddled her. Had he not just referred to Azalia as a 'sister'? Shems used such familial terms for each other so…freely and without purpose, then. To call someone their sister or even brother among her people was just that – you called them family. If a bandit hurt your family you hurt them right back. You didn't try and _protect them_ from the others of your family and getting exactly what they deserved.

_Another reason to despise them,_ she thought irritably. Lyna had gotten used to the shems she had to travel with, but the way of their people was…well, it was appalling. They lied, they betrayed those they called king, and they called each other family without even truly meaning it. It made her angry, though some seemed to have at least a little redeeming value. Not nearly as many as she'd have liked, though. Elena did. The goof ball did, too, and actually reminded her of her two missing brothers sometimes. Azalia did. The qunari did as well, without question. Like her people, they didn't say or do things lightly. Though she'd spoken very little with the mages, the tall one and the woman who was joining them seemed alright as well. Anders and Wynne, she reminded herself.

She did not, however, like these templars…or the old mage in charge.

Lyna waited tirelessly for some confirmation – her hand never wavered as she kept her arrow trained and Alistair fruitlessly tried to convince her not to do anything rash. It wasn't a rash decision, though. Shems always seemed to think their emotions played into decision making, but it wasn't so. Her people were simple, as was their way of dealing with things as a general rule. If the templar indeed managed to kill the mage, then she would kill him, effectively avenging her, and the life debt between them would be absolved.

Simple.

_Only shems can manage to make simple decisions into complicated ones._ It also confirmed her private thought that they just liked all their drama and intrigue far too much to be practical. They called her people savages not because they were different from them, but because her people didn't bother with this pointless masquerading they insisted upon. Civility, they called.

To her, Lyna could only see it as lying. A knife was a knife. The reason you shoved a knife in the back of someone was because they were in your way or you didn't like them. None of this "for the good of Ferelden" nonsense.

Once they were back at camp, she'd have to go and explain this to Alistair. It was a lesson that seemed beneficial for him to learn.

Lyna risked a glance back, relieved to see the blood had stopped flowing out of Azalia's neck. That was good, right? It was crusted in blood already drying and there was a small pool beneath her neck, but that was to be expected.

Though she was hard pressed to admit it, Lyna could at least privately admit that Azalia scared the hell out of her – enough that her arrow came loose and nearly unmanned Alistair who gave a very unmanly squeak as it buried itself in the wall near the stupid templar's head, vibrating horribly close to his groin – when her eyes snapped open and she jolted upright without warning, gasping before she turned and regurgitated some blood right into the tall mage's – Anders' – lap.

He glanced down at it as Wynne leaned over to check her and made a face. "Ew…"

* * *

He was still giving her that look.

"I said I was sorry," Azalia chuckled, fastening the fur shoulder caps of her robes in place again. "You even got to see me in my bra, too. I could have just had Wynne fix this old injury for me, but I thought you'd appreciate it after I puked blood all over your favorite robes."

Anders actually laughed at that. "Right, like I haven't seen you in your bra before. But thank you for the lovely thought." He leaned back in the chair next to the bed she'd been given for the night, sighing. "I'm so tired I don't think I can move."

Normally, she'd joke with him about that being an excuse just to let him sleep with her, but he _did_ look like hell. He'd cleaned up, obviously, before coming with the other mages so he looked like his usual roguish self, but his eyes were tired and he moved slowly, as if forcing his arms and legs to obey him. Rather obligingly, she scooted over to the other side of the massive bed she'd been setup in and patted the now free spot in front of him pointedly. "Wouldn't be the first time," she shrugged when he arched an eyebrow at her quizzically.

"True enough." Anders fell in beside her and groaned in relief, sighing as the tension drained from her shoulders. "Shouldn't you be doing…I don't know…Warden stuff instead of seducing little ole me?"

"Elena and Alistair can do that," she waved off. "And I'm _not_ seducing you, fool. You'd know if I was. We actually have a bit of a break at the moment while we all recover. Besides, Elena's better suited to dealing with the arlessa. She's just such a…"

"Bitch?" he offered.

"Exactly." Turning on her side, Azalia studied his face that was turned towards her carefully. "I'm sorry I couldn't help," she whispered. "At the tower, I mean."

"I know." His hand came up and patted her head, much like he would a dog, but she didn't have nearly enough energy to fight it. "Of all the lazy things for you to do. Getting tossed into the Fade at such a time! Bad Surana." He wagged a finger at her half-heartedly. "I should spank you, but I'm afraid that would take more energy than I have."

"I'll remind you at a time when you do, then," Azalia grinned with an expression that he matched. "And it's Vindahl." She chuckled wryly at his confusion. "I finally remembered my family's name. _My_ name."

"Azalia Vindahl," he said, as if trying it out. "Fitting. I'd grab some of that brandy you like so much and suggest a toast, but, you know…can't move and all that."

"No brandy, anyway," she pointed out, lip quirking at the look of horrified confusion on his face. "The arlessa doesn't like the stuff, apparently. She likes wine."

"I like wine too; that doesn't mean I ostracize all the others!" In mock indignation, he proclaimed, "It just wouldn't be fair."

"I imagine even that's gone, at this point." After the past few days, she'd _hope_ it was. Azalia doubted anyone would be able to stay sane otherwise. "You know, I had a thought…"

"Unless you plan on doing all the work, no," Anders muttered, his eyes closing.

She snorted. "Not that, you fool." When he merely rumbled an unintelligible sound, she smiled slightly. The Circle would be staying through the next night just in case to monitor Connor and ensure the demon was truly gone, so Anders would at least be around until the day after tomorrow as well. She could tell him her thoughts then. He looked too peaceful to disturb with her idea now. "Never figured you'd decline such an offer, though. What would the rest of the tower say?"

His lips twitched and what sounded like laughter rumbled in his throat. Anders' long arm came up and tossed itself carelessly over her body, tugging her closer so that she was almost tucked against him as if she were a favorite teddy bear or blanket. "Glad you're not dead," he mumbled against her hair.

"Yeah," she sighed, letting her eyes close as well while she inhaled the musky scent that was simply _him_ and the warmth that radiated from his body. "Me too. Go figure."

* * *

The next morning, after she'd grabbed breakfast from what remained in the castle's kitchen, Elena went to go see Azalia and tell her about what had transpired last night. She had discussed plans with Alistair on what they should do next after they recovered well into the night. While it was obvious they had to go to Denerim, they'd decided a small group should go into the city so as not to attract Loghain's notice yet and search for this Brother Genitivi. They'd also agreed it couldn't be them, since he was a Warden and she was the daughter of a teyrn – her face was far too well known. They'd eventually figured it best to send Leliana because she could blend in, as well as Zevran who, while not totally trusted, did seem to be honest in his desire to help them. Besides, who better then a former bard (an admission Leliana had reluctantly admitted to after some prodding on her part) to keep an eye on him?

Just in case, though, Elena had convinced Morrigan to tag along as well. She'd refused at first, but after she'd heard the witch mention a book of her mother's that the Circle possessed to Azalia, Elena had used that to her advantage. After giving the purloined tome she'd grabbed to her from the Circle during the chaos as a gift, convincing her to go with them had been quite easy. They'd left this morning with Wynne, who wouldn't let Zevran go so soon after being healed of his injuries otherwise, so now all they had to do was wait.

When she came to her friend's room, she paused at the crack in the door and bit down on a giggle. She was curled up in the healer's arms looking mighty comfortable and sleeping soundly, so Elena quietly shut the door again and grinned. She'd _definitely_ have to talk to her later about him. In the meantime, though…well, she supposed she could talk to Teagan. She _did_ have to speak with him, anyway, though she'd wanted to talk it over with Azalia first. She felt bad at the thought of leaving her to gather allies without her help, but she was comforted by the fact that she had so many other capable and reliable fighters at her side. If things went well, Elena hoped to give her the entire support of Highever as well, Maker willing.

It wasn't hard finding Teagan, considering he seemed to be living in the main hall where he was overseeing repairs to not only the castle itself, but the village as well. He was not idle for a lord, either. He oversaw it all while helping fix some of the castle's structural damage, dressed in clothes that were as casual as she'd ever seen him go. She'd never seen him in anything but his heavy chainmail or noble clothes before. Yet again, she wondered if anything actually looked bad on him. "Teagan," she called out, waving him over when he turned. "Can we speak for a few minutes? There's something I want to talk over with you."

"Of course." Elena smiled gratefully when Sten took over for him, obviously bored to death with nothing else to do and itching for something to occupy him. The qunari warrior was not one who liked being idle, after all.

They went into the study which, compared to the rest of the castle, had been mostly untouched during the whole demon fiasco. When he shut the door, Elena got straight to the point. "I want to take back control of Highever."

He nodded, smiling slightly. "Of course. I've expected you to mention this far sooner, I confess." Leaning against the door, he crossed his arms and muttered thoughtfully, "Technically speaking, you are the rightful heir to the teyrnir. Howe has no real claim to it while you still breathe."

"Loyalty before treachery," she murmured, and they both laughed a little at that. "He is, though, occupying it?"

Teagan shook his head. "No. He is in Denerim, serving as its arl seeing as the former one died 'tragically' not too long after Ostagar." His snort said all she needed to know about _that._ "From what my sources tell me, he has left his captain of the guard in control at Highever and made…examples of some who would stand against him."

Elena rubbed her temple. She had her ideas about what kind of example that might be, but she didn't want to think about it. Not yet, anyway. "And this fool notion that my father was selling Ferelden out to Orlais…? Where do we stand there?"

"Almost all are on your side," he said confidently. "Alfstanna was appalled when Howe put forward that notion, being as close to Fergus as she was." Elena smiled, nodding. Alfstanna and Fergus were good friends since childhood and had been an older sister figure of sorts for her. That she didn't believe the lies made Elena happy. "Only Ceorlic seems willing to believe him, and only then because he has Loghain backing him. The rest of us can see Howe, at the very least, for the traitorous little weasel he is."

_It's a start._ "Would the arls and banns honor their pledges of loyalty to Highever if I were to step up as Teyrna?" That, of course, was the crux of it. Pledges were verbal, only. Alliances and loyalties were fluid in Ferelden, though her father had inspired great loyalty amongst the nobles, Howe not withstanding. It was what had made him so great. While the nobles knew her, of course, Elena didn't know if they would follow her as loyally as they had her father.

Teagan smiled, however, and nodded. "Without a doubt, milady. Rainesfere, at the least, will _always_ honor their pledge of loyalty to Highever and the Couslands. Once Eamon wakes, he will no doubt say the same."

Elena arched an eyebrow, intrigued. Redcliffe was a pledge of Gwaren…not Highever. Such a statement would certainly send a _very clear _message. "Then we must cross our fingers and hope we can get those ashes soon. I am eager to see Highever retaken from that treacherous bastard's greedy hands."

He nodded. "I don't think I could've said it better myself. Now come, Elena. There is much work to be done and I'm sure the village could use some help about now…"

* * *

"Steady that arm! You want to miss your enemy and shoot your ally instead?"

"N-No ma'am!" Obediently, the young shemlen altered his stance and steadied his arm before releasing the arrow he'd been aiming. With wide eyes, he stared as it sank itself in the center of the target. "I…I did it! I really did it!"

Lyna nodded, pleased. She'd been down in the village all day, showing young shemlen like him how to string bows properly and better forms. Too many of them were rubbish with bows and arrows – something she wanted rectified. That they had even asked had shocked her, but then, they'd seen her in action. Several knights had inquired if she would show them how she'd felled the ogres by herself; even a few of the Chantry's own templars. Not that she could, even if she had any inclination to teach peons of the shemlen religion at all. Warriors simply weren't flexible enough. Some rogues, however, would and had already benefited from her knowledge. They even looked at her with respect…which was pleasing for reasons she couldn't explain. She didn't actually care what shemlen thought of her, but it was nice to be respected for her skills again and looked to for advice. The young hunters of her clan had always come to her for advice and she'd forgotten how much she missed that feeling of being needed.

_If the rest of Ferelden could be like these people then I might not hate them so bad._ It was a random though she had as she watched the young boy she'd just taught run off after he bowed hastily to her, lips pursed. None of those in the village spared her so much as an odd glance, smiling even when they noticed her and offering greetings and thanks. It was unusual and unnerving, to say the least, but there were still some who did give her _that_ glance. The type of look that suggested she didn't belong there and best leave as soon as possible.

Unsurprisingly, they usually came from the refugees huddling around priests in the chantry.

"Ignore them," the flat-ear Azalia and the witch had bullied into fighting muttered. "They're sycophants. You could save the Grand Cleric from the flames of the archdemon itself and they'd still hate you for being a 'knife-ear'."

His voice was resigned, just like the rest of the knife ears she'd ever met. "Why do you stay then?" she snapped, annoyed. "If all they do is hate you, why bother?"

"Where else would I go?" he shot back.

"The Dalish would take you, if you were willing," she pointed out. "We took a flat-ear like you in not long before I left. Escaped from Denerim, apparently. He is a fine brother and seems to find life among my clan quite agreeable."

"Can't be any worse then working for the Arl," he sighed, though the flat-ear – Berwick – looked rather curious at the prospect. "He _hates_ us. All of our kind. I hear the old Teyrn of Highever was pretty nice to his elves and it appalled Arl Howe to no end."

She nodded. "The warden was one of his elves. She said as much to me. Elena is the teyrn's daughter and, thus far, only surviving relative."

Berwick's eyes widened. "Oh…well…oh. You might not want to…let them go to Highever for a while. The arl…" he shook his head, shuddering. "He's…made it quite clear where elves stand. _Abundantly_ so."

Lyna didn't like the sound of that at all and made a mental note to see if the Orlesian bard had heard anything of it during her travel to Denerim when she saw her again. She'd seen the sorts of things shems could do to her people first hand as well as through tales many of her city kin who joined them told her. "I will take note of it. I suggest if you truly wish to join my people that you head east towards the Brecillian forest. My clan will be to the northern side of Dragon's Peak by now, though I'm sure there are others far closer that you might be able to find."

"North is good," he muttered. "North is _away_ from those…_things._"

Reluctantly, Lyna sighed and pulled out a small token from her pocket. It was a trinket from Ashalle that she'd given her as a child and something of a good luck charm. She hated to part with it, but the elf would need something to prove she'd sent him. Far too many flat-ears had tracked them down, only to sell out their positions to their shemlen masters who saw their existence as a threat. Not many did so, but enough had managed that a single flat-ear stumbling into their camp without proof would be wholly turned away or killed. "Then take this," Lyna told him, setting it in his hand that she grabbed. "Go to my clan and tell them you aided me in battle and that I give you this as proof of your sincerity. They will take you in, feed you, and show you the ways in which we live. Or you can go back to your lovely sounding shem master and his tortures."

Berwick gaped like a fish for a few moments before his hand fisted around Ashalle's token, nodding once. "I…thank you. I…I'll go. I…_thank you._"

"Dareth shiral," she muttered as he ran off. Hopefully he really would go to her clan. It was a risk, but she had a feeling he was actually being truthful when he said he would go find them. Far too many, she realized, didn't even realize they could come to them. They believed them savages, as shemlens thought, or thought them to be no more but mere myths to keep their hopes alive that there _was_ a better way to live then as rats packed into filth and garbage with no way to protect themselves.

Something nudged her hand and Lyna glanced down to see her wolf, Adahl, nudging it with her muzzle and staring fixatedly at her with knowing eyes. Not far behind, Elena's Lethallin wagged his stump of a tail and barked, tongue lolling in an almost goofy grin. Ever since Ostagar, she couldn't seem to get rid of the mabari whenever she called Adahl out.

And both wolf and mabari just kept staring at her, their expressions eerily similar.

"Shut up," she muttered, staring at them both with narrowed eyes. "Both of you. _I'm not getting soft."_

Their expressions clearly said otherwise, to her eyes, and Lyna stormed away in a huff.

What did a dog and a wolf know, anyway?

* * *

"Where are we going?"

Azalia simply motioned for Anders to shut up, her hand firmly grasping his as she led him up the trail away from the village. They'd helped all they could all day with injuries and resetting bones and nearly bled themselves dry of mana, but she had enough energy to do what she'd been planning ever since her idea had planted itself in her head. Night had fallen and everyone was back at the castle or their homes, a great deal of the carnage cleaned up and a good portion of the rebuilding started. Everyone was asleep, for now, and more then a few people had seen Anders head towards his room already.

The illusion she'd made of him, anyway.

The spell was difficult to sustain at the level she was, drained already as her reserves were, but Azalia was adamant. She knew he would take the chance to escape in a heartbeat…if he knew _how_. Anders planned his escapes months in advance – he had to with how deliberate and elaborate they were. Redcliffe was a prime opportunity for him, but he didn't know it at all.

Not like she did.

_But not just him._ She felt bad since Teagan had been the one who told her of the secret entrance and she was essentially using it to free the one partly responsible for his family's current state. Jowan had a lot to repent and atone for – though saving Connor and Eamon, in her eyes, was a great start. She was glad Elena had let him be the one to do it. But he could do so much more _alive_ and away from the templars. He had a good heart and had taken care of her in the tower when everyone else had avoided her until she came to terms with her situation and stopped "shrieking like a lunatic". He was the brother she'd never had, growing up, and the only family she _knew_ was alive for the moment. If she could help it, she'd make sure he stayed that way.

They both slipped easily into the windmill and Azalia sighed in relief when she saw the straw bundle was still in place, preventing the door's lock from catching. She'd placed it this afternoon before lunch, right before giving Teagan his ring back _very publicly._ The lock itself was magic proofed so it couldn't be triggered that way, but the straw wasn't. She'd enchanted it so that it would keep the door from latching shut again, thus avoiding a need for his family ring.

Anders seemed more curious then anything as he followed her, though he obviously had quite a few questions to ask her as well. When they entered the dungeons, though, his face soured somewhat. "I'm usually all for kinky places to hook up, Zali, but this is just a bit…"

"Oh, shut up. I didn't drag you here for _that!"_ That he'd actually considered it an option was intriguing, though. She'd tried to seduce him back at the tower seriously on two separate occasions; both of which he'd managed to deflect without injuring her ego too badly. Shaking her head, Azalia stopped in front of the cell they'd shoved Jowan in, shaking her head. "You're lucky I was trained in my mother's style before the tower, you know," she told Jowan lightly, grinning faintly.

He was, understandably, confused. "What do you mean?"

Azalia didn't answer him. Instead, she withdrew the lock picks she hadn't used in years and nodded with a satisfied smiled when the cell doors eventually creaked open slightly. She was no master by far, but the very simple locks she could still manage to open. Fortunately, the cell locks seemed to date back to a time before Calenhad and weren't exactly the best made things in Thedas, so her limited skills alone sufficed.

"You need to go," she told him when Jowan only blinked in stunned silence at her. To Anders, she said with a grin, "And I want you to take him. I want you both to get far away from Ferelden. You can blend in among the refugees flocking to the Free Marches…or head to the Imperium. They won't notice two more refugee mages entering their country."

"What about you?" Anders asked, intrigued but cautious. "Why don't you just take him? Not that I'm saying no, mind you, just…they'll notice I'm missing in an hour."

"Not before you're long gone," she smiled. "In the castle, several servants and the arlessa herself have already seen you head to your room for the night."

"But I've been with…" Pausing, he concentrated slightly before sighing with an amused shake of his head. "I thought something felt odd. But I don't recognize the spell."

"It's a very solid illusion of sorts," she shrugged. It was simplifying it, but the easiest explanation she could think of. It was a spell she'd managed to cajole out of Morrigan that Flemeth had apparently taught her to use that Azalia had figured would come quite in handy. She hadn't expected to use it so soon before she could completely master it, but it was as good a time as any. "You've already been slapped, audibly, by one servant for trying to get her into your room, by the way. In front of the templars, no less, so they know it's the 'real' you."

Neither seemed to know what to say, their twin looks of confusion clear, and Azalia sighed in exasperation. She hadn't wanted to explain this; she'd hoped they'd just take this gift and go, but apparently not. "Aside from a few mages I liked to speak with occasionally, you two are the only ones I spoke with at length and the _only _ones I can think of that I'd call a friend. But one of you is a known maleficar who will no doubt be killed…" She looked at Jowan, who flinched slightly. "And the other is an escape artist who is likely one more attempt away from the same fate." Anders' lip curled in distaste, but he nodded minutely. Even _he_ knew they wouldn't leave him be forever and he _would_ escape again. There was no question about it. "If my blood family still lives, I have no way of knowing until after this whole mess is over, so the closest thing I have right at this moment is you two." More forcefully then she'd intended, Azalia cursed as she felt tears prickle her eyes. "I will not see what family I _KNOW_ I have left die…_not if I can help it._ Not after everything I've seen happen!_"_

Jowan grabbed her in a fierce hug then and she buried her head in his shoulder while the tears poured out, uncontrolled. "I want to know you'll be safe," she whispered, her voice muffled by his robes that had at least been switched for a clean pair. "At least _someone _I can call family will be alive after this Blight. My parents and two siblings I _never even met_ might very well be dead – from Howe or the darkspawn, I don't know. But you two are here and you're my friends. You both kept me sane at the tower. I know you're both alive and I want to keep it that way, so just..._go_. Please."

When she looked up, embarrassed and rubbing furiously at her eyes, Jowan kissed her cheek and nodded. "I promise I'll do good with this chance then. I'll…do _something_ to make things right."

Anders nodded as well, though he gave her the same look he had when she'd kissed him on the cheek the day she'd left the tower for Ostagar. She still couldn't tell what it was, exactly, but confusion seemed prominent in his expression. "What about you?" he finally asked, his voice unusually soft. "What will you do?"

"I must stay and fight the Blight." There was no hesitation when she said it, sniffing slightly as she wiped her nose. "I'll be able to do so easier knowing you'll both be out of the immediate line of fire, though. I'm a Grey Warden now…I have to. I _want_ to. It's going to be a lot worse before it gets better and I'm sure I'll lose a lot more before the end of it." Staring them both down pointedly, Azalia sighed, "I can be happy knowing you guys won't be part of that tally. If you die from stupidity, though, I'll be pretty annoyed and drag your asses back from the Fade just to kick them. Figuring out this plan wasn't easy."

"I have never been caught from stupidity," Anders huffed indignantly. He still had that look in his eyes, but his usual joking mask was coming up to fend off the emotional and Azalia was grateful for it. "Not the last four attempts, anyway. It was dumb luck that templar was even nearby or I'd have made it to the ship!"

She smiled slightly. "Head out of the windmill and to the bridge across from the castle's gate. The guard there has been recalled for the moment while repairs are being done, so no one will see you if you're careful. The road will take you to the Imperial Highway where, if you haste yourselves, you can be in Denerim by morning. From there, finding passage should be no problem." She looked at Anders as she said the last part. "I'm sure you know where to find suitable passage for yourselves?"

"I still have a few contacts that aren't too pissed with me yet." He grinned faintly. "Don't worry about it. Though…" He leaned forward then, whispering in her ear, "I have to ask…do you always try and seduce men you consider family?"

Azalia flushed, shaking her head before she whispered back with a devious smirk, "Just handsome human mages I liked but who turned me down. _Twice._" She flicked him in the nose then, motioning behind them. "You're wasting moonlight. I'll keep my spell going until morning. They'll know by then, so you need to be well ahead of them by sun up."

Jowan nodded and gave her one last hug, saying, "Be safe, Zali."

"Safe as I can be," she promised before shooing him towards where Anders was waiting near the door.

Anders paused before they both would've gone out of her sight and looked back at her, his trademark grin on his face. "Azalia," he called out. When she arched an eyebrow, urging him on, he gave her a self-depreciating smile and said, "The mage you liked was an idiot. If he ever sees you again, maybe he'll make it up to you." With that parting shot and a final wink, he disappeared, and Azalia laughed as she leaned against the dungeon wall, shaking her head.

If she ever saw him again, seducing him would be the last thing on her mind. A solid smack to his head was far more likely.

* * *

**_A/N: I actually like Azalia's relationship with Anders. It's kind of fun to write. Makes me want to do a piece that shows life in the tower, but that's for me to think on after this is finished. Not only are we half way done, but I've hit 50k+ words! Woot! Sadly, our favorite mages won't be appearing for quite some time, but rest assured, they'll be back! Next up is some fun back at camp and Zevran finally gets a little...one on one with the warden. And Alistair and Elena have a moment. =) Great fun._**

_**As always, review! You know you want to!**_

_~SRD  
_


	12. Just a Little Longer

**Chapter Eleven**

_Just a Little Longer_

* * *

The group sent to Denerim made it back a little earlier then Azalia expected, arriving at their camp site a few hours after they did. Leliana immediately told them about what had transpired, though she seemed particularly…tired, though it could've just been the ambush they apparently hit on the way back.

"Bandits," she said with a lofty wave of her hand. "Nothing to worry about."

Normally, the bard was a _very good_ liar. Not right then, though. Her voice wavered the tiniest bit – a difference she doubted any human ear could pick up. Elven hearing was much stronger, though, and Azalia gave her a look that let her know she knew. She wouldn't pry, however. If Leliana didn't want to talk about it, Azalia was positive Elena would cajole it out of her. She was a noble, after all. Nobles were as tenacious as Mabari when they wanted to be and her friend had learned those skills _very_ well.

They would stay and rest in camp through tomorrow upon Wynne's orders who was still worried about some lingering injuries Alistair and Elena still sported and they would leave for a tiny village called Haven the following morning. Lyna was obviously of a mind that they would face some sort of army once they got there and set off to train with Sten who nodded approvingly at her before following. They were a mismatched pair to get along, Azalia mused, but at least it gave Lyna someone to talk to other then her. She spoke to Elena, sometimes, but Azalia never saw her speak much otherwise unless needed. It was, she suspected, the results of Dalish isolation.

Given the fact that she now had some free time, Azalia made her way over to their newest companion, curious. She hadn't spoken to the Antivan since Elena had recruited him and her curiosity was piqued.

"Ah, the other Grey Warden; she finally appears." His thickly accented voice was teasing, his eyes twinkling merrily at some private joke, and Azalia wondered how it is he made everything sound like some sort of innuendo. The way he spoke, perhaps. But it was something she was quite familiar with, at any rate, and grinned devilishly in response.

"I am, indeed. I hear you wanted to kill me."

He laughed, shaking his head. "Tis' nothing personal, you understand; twas' merely a job – one I failed most gloriously at, don't you think? The Crows…they do not take kindly to such failures, so…here I am." Zevran smiled at her then and she was sorely reminded of Amell back at the mage's tower who would smile like that often right before asking her if she'd like to go talk behind a book case somewhere for a few minutes. He also used it to great success to get out of trouble, the rat. Absently, she wondered if he'd been among those who'd survived. Like her, he'd also been a favorite of Irving's, though Azalia had never understood _why_. With her gone, she supposed Amell was the next likely to be groomed into the First Enchanter position...a terrifying thought, to be sure. While she hated the chantry as much as the next, she'd never been quite as Libertarian as Amell was. She was more Aequetarian, or so Irving had once said,.

Azalia nodded absently as she regarded him, amused. "So what exactly do you plan to do? I don't claim much knowledge on the Antivan Crows, but I can guess they won't just leave you be once they confirm your body is missing and you are not, in fact, dead."

"The suspicious one said you were not only beautiful, but smart," he smirked.

"Beautiful, huh?" She sorely doubted Alistair would say she was without blushing. It sounded more like something the elf himself was throwing in, but Azalia ran with it anyway.

"But of course," Zevran told her, as if it should be obvious. "That you can kill me from where you stand with only a snap of your lovely fingers only adds to your charm, dear Warden."

"I think that might just be you who thinks that," she laughed, but smiled anyway. "But thank you. That's very flattering, though not so much after Elena told me what you called _her_. Deadly sex goddess, wasn't it?"

"Ah, but tis' true, no?" he questioned, motioning towards where she was. "Such precision and lethality in one strike…enough to make a young Crow envious, I dare say."

Azalia nodded absently, agreeing. Elena had the moves of an assassin, now that she'd seen Zevran fight, though Elena had never been schooled in such techniques as far as she knew. Teyrn Cousland had never employed such services, though they'd been sent after _them_ a time or two that she could remember. Now that she thought about it, it could very well have been Howe in those instances too.

_One more reason to castrate the weasel._ Eying him thoughtfully, Azalia briefly considered if her plan was wise before shrugging. When it came down to it, she could actually _heal_ herself if necessary. He, however, could not, and would have nowhere to actually hide anything on his body if she got her way. She was tired and still worried, hoping Jowan and Anders had made it far enough away, and she needed some stress relief. As far as she could tell, Zevran was the most likely shot she had of easing some of that stress. There was always Alistair, maybe, but she had no desire to be the first dance on his proverbial card. She needed someone who knew what to do with his hands and what to put where without much coaching.

"So tell me, Zev," she purred in a tone that effectively piqued the assassin's curiosity. "You ever fight with a mage before?"

* * *

"Is that supposed to be a _spar?_"

Elena chuckled when she heard Alistair's incredulous inquiry, nodding as he took a seat by the fire near her and watched Azalia move easily, like a dancer, and avoid all Zevran's strikes. "Not so much," she mused, nibbling on some fruit Leliana had brought back with her. The bard herself seemed troubled since their return and Elena mentally vowed to see what was going on with her tomorrow. She didn't want her distracted when they went to Haven, given their apparent welcome when they got to Genitivi's home in Denerim. It was a blatant sign of trouble. "It's just blowing off steam." _Or an odd version of foreplay._

"Never knew mages could fight like that," he mentioned, motioning vaguely towards Azalia's bag where Elena could clearly see her sword sticking out. "Close combat fighting, I mean."

"They don't normally, I think." Elena thought back to her brief time in the tower, shaking her head. Most of the mages were smooth-skinned and lacked any visible muscles; she doubted any of them had picked up anything bigger then a dagger in their life and never to _fight_ with. "I understand they get taken away young…Azalia was young when she was taken too, but her parents started training her when she was five. Mostly exercises to improve her dexterity, but my brother and I showed her what we knew of fighting with blades before she left as well."

Alistair's eyes widened slightly. "Really? I mean…that's great, though I didn't think anyone actually _taught_ their…servants…to fight."

"Azalia's more of a friend then servant," Elena said fondly. "She was a few months old when Damyan married Udia and moved into Highever castle with us. We grew up together for seven years playing in the fields. If she had stayed, maybe I'd have seen her more as a servant once we got older, but…" She shrugged then, and absently got to work on peeling another of the apples. She _loved_ apples. "And my father was big on reminding Fergus and I that you can never have too many lines of defense in case of attack. Why have servants around to be cannon fodder when they can fight just as well as any noble? They could attack us as well, of course, but that's why we wanted the people working for us to be happy. Happy servants don't typically want to kill you."

"I remember." Elena gave him a confused look, making Alistair chuckle. "I came to Highever…once. Bann Teagan took me along on a leisure visit, since it was shortly after Arl Eamon married Lady Isolde and…well, things were uncomfortable for me there, by then. I think I was six or seven, at the time. The arl's no taskmaster, but I was shocked at how…informal everyone was."

Elena tried to remember if she'd ever seen him, frowning. "You can't be much older then me," she mused, "but I don't recall…did we meet, then?"

A flush so dark even the light of the campfire couldn't hide it crawled over his cheeks, and he scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Forget I said anything. Hey! Aren't the stars pretty…and is that a dog? It looks like a dog…"

"Alistair…" She smacked her hand lightly against his armor, chuckling. "Just tell me. Please?"

"We did," he sighed, obviously embarrassed. "Very briefly, though. You and your brother came running out into the courtyard where we were and…" The flush deepened. "You kind of…ran into me; knocked me flat into a mud puddle. Teagan laughed so hard he had tears in his eyes all the way back to Redcliffe."

Elena widened her eyes, horrified. She _remembered_ that. Father had sent her and Fergus to their rooms for that, all while her mother had taken the poor soul she'd knocked into the mud to try and clean him up. She'd only known it was a kid; she'd seen him for all of ten seconds, if that. "That…was you? Oh…" A tiny giggle escaped her without warning and she bowed her head, shoulders shaking. "I'm _so_ sorry."

"I got sent to the chantry after that," Alistair said ruefully. "It left an impression, though. Teagan's never forgotten the image of me covered in mud, apparently."

"You'd have made a good Redcliffe knight," she noted, and Alistair gave her a slight smile. Though he hadn't actually told her much about his time in the chantry, she knew from bits of conversation he and Azalia had that he'd hated it.

"I thought I'd be one, when I was older," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. "Eamon…the arl was like a father to me and I _loved_ Redcliffe. It was peaceful and I liked training with the other squires. I always thought…but then the arlessa came, everything changed, and it was off to the chantry. I was so furious at being sent away I even through my mother's amulet against the barn wall…"

_Amulet?_ Rummaging through her bag absently with her hand, Elena arched an eyebrow when her fingers touched the amulet Lyna had apparently purloined from the arl's study in Redcliffe. _There's no way… _"What did it look like?" she asked, her voice even with only idle curiosity.

"Silver with an image of Andraste's holy flame…" Alistair sounded so sad as he spoke of it, obviously distraught. "I was so stupid. It was the only thing I had of her and I…"

Elena tugged the amulet from her pack just enough so that she could see it. Even in the dim light of the fire, she could see the flame, alright, as well as several minuscule cracks that ran all throughout the silver…as if it had once been shattered, perhaps? _Well I'll be damned._ Pulling it out, she let it dangle in front of Alistair's bent head until his eyes looked up, widening as he saw it.

"My mother's amulet! Wha…Where did you find it?" He took it gently in his hands, caressing the tattered emblem almost reverently.

"It was in Eamon's study, I'm told," she said with a half-smile. "Lyna grabbed it and gave it to me."

For once, he didn't comment on Lyna's bad habit of snooping through locked chests and drawers. Instead, Alistair looked at her with an expression she wasn't entirely sure she could identify. It made his eyes suspiciously shiny, though not as if he were going to cry. It was more…intense.

"Thank you," he whispered, holding the amulet close. "I…It means a lot to me."

"You're welcome." Glancing at it, she smiled sadly. "I'd kill to have a little something to remind me of my parents again. I'm happy you have it back, Alistair. And perhaps you mean more to Eamon then you think." She let her finger run along the most obvious of cracks gently. "This couldn't have been easy to fix."

Elena left him alone to his thoughts after that, though she did squeeze his shoulder once through the new heavy chainmail they'd picked up for him. "Goodnight, Alistair."

His hand caught hers before it slipped away, though he didn't look back at her. Alistair only squeezed her hand once, gently, before letting it fall away. "Good night, Elena."

Though she knew he hadn't turned around, her face felt oddly warm and she felt like his eyes were on her until she ducked into her tent, the thin flap of material falling into place easily behind her. Even then, though, she still felt like he was watching her, and it…well…it was unnerving, though not in a bad way. Normally, she hated being watched; it was annoying and usually made her irritable.

Elena didn't actually mind it nearly as much as she would've thought.

* * *

"The Crow told me an interesting thing yesterday," Lyna mused from her perch in a nearby tree, startling Azalia when she emerged the next morning; she jumped visibly at the sound of her voice, like a child who'd been caught playing with her parent's daggers without permission.

"That so?" she said faintly, clearing her throat as she absently straightened her robes. It hadn't escaped her notice that she'd exited from said Crow's tent either. While Lyna questioned the wisdom of such a choice, it was ultimately none of her business. She wasn't around to be a chastity belt for her, after all. "Zev says a lot of interesting things."

"He was babbling about how he ran into a pair of mages in Denerim right before he left for camp with the others," she continued, staring up into the branches and well aware that she now had her full attention. "Set them up with a friend of his who was planning a small trip to the Free Marches."

"Really?" The strange tone in the mage's voice confirmed what Lyna had pretty much suspected, nodding minutely. No one had believed she knew nothing about the escape of the mage, Anders, and the skittish mage from Redcliffe. But there was little to be done about it and no proof to suggest she was lying, so they'd left as planned. "Imagine that. He never said a word to me."

"Didn't sound like you two were saying many words at all last night anyway," she stated. That's all it was, after all; a statement of fact. "You may want to work on some sort of sound-proofing spell…just for future reference."

"Duly noted," Azalia grinned before heading towards the pond nearby to wash her face and wake up. The Crow emerged not long after, looking a good deal perkier then normal, though Lyna ignored him as she always did. It was ridiculously easy to, after all.

Aside from Alistair and Elena, who were under strict orders to stay off their feet for the day by the healer, Wynne, there was nothing particularly noteworthy that needed to be done. Lyna was quite content to lounge in the tree all day, the warm rays of the sun on her face and the gentle caress of the wind cool against her skin. They would all depart for Haven in the morning and, while she fully expected trouble, Lyna was eager to get on with it. Staying idle wasn't the most productive thing to do, but she could only train so much. She watched Adahl and Lethallin roll around camp, pouncing on each other every so often, with a small smile, but otherwise took a moment to relax and meditate…to soak in the sights and sounds of nature that the shems really didn't appreciate enough. The sounds of the bard singing a soft tune and the canines growling playfully faded from her mind until all she could hear was the rustle of the leaves, the groaning of the trees as they swayed in the wind, and the faint trickling of water from the river nearby. The rhythm was steady – constant – and Lyna let herself fall into her dreams; into the Fade that was her own private corner and not the creation of some bastard demon she needed to slaughter.

"_Lethallan." Tamlen smiled as he greeted her, sitting easily at a table across from Fenarel who was frowning at some book about who-knows-what. While Lyna enjoyed reading as much as the next elf, she preferred to do other things in her down time. Tamlen was actually a fairly impressive wood carver, whereas she was better suited to metalworking, of all things. They didn't do much, admittedly, but blades didn't forge themselves and very few elves had a knack for working with metals. Even Ilen had admitted she was far better at crafting swords and the like then he was, so she usually worked on that whenever she had a spare moment._

_As she leaned against the wall behind Tamlen's seat, Lyna scraped her dagger's blade against a sharpening stone absently, her eyes closed. It was a familiar thing they'd always done, doing their own things while simply enjoying each others company. It gave her comfort to come here, to this place, at night, even if it was just a pleasant dream to occupy her until she awoke to the next disaster they had to run into._

"_We miss you, Lyna," Fenarel muttered from behind his book, and she vaguely wondered if it was just her subconscious telling her what she wanted to hear, of if it really could be them. It was a question she could always ask the older mage. Surely she would know?_

"_I miss you guys too," she sighed. "I will be home soon."_

"_We need you, lethallan," Tamlen continued, and her eyes snapped open as she felt him grab her hand. He never touched her hand in her dreams. Neither of them ever touched her __**at all**__. She met his bright elven blue eyes squarely, a chill running down her spine as…__**something**__ flashed behind them. It wasn't like the sloth demon's illusion, but it WAS menacing in its own way. This menace was born more of fear, however…fear for her kin; fear that something was wrong. It made her inexplicably anxious, and Lyna caught Fenarel's gaze over his book. His rich green eyes that normally never quite met hers because he was just shy like that, even with her, met hers squarely, unflinching. He never did that unless something was wrong – very wrong._

"…_We need you, Lyna…"_

Her eyes snapped open, the sun just beginning its decent towards the horizon, and Lyna screamed their names, panic clutching her throat so tightly it hurt. Their voices continued echoing, however, and she knew – no matter how much Leliana, Elena, and Wynne tried to convince her otherwise – that their words had been no dream.

Their words had been real.

"They need me," she whispered, not caring who heard her. She simply had to say it, to make it more real, and her chest tightened painfully as she clenched her fists so hard her knuckles turned white and her nails broke the skin of her palm. "Something's wrong…something has _happened."_ Had the chantry shemlen found them? Attacked them? Had that elf from Redcliffe betrayed them?

"It isn't impossible," Azalia was saying to the older mage, shrugging. "You see spirits. Maybe she has the gift of sight?"

Wynne looked doubtful, her expression oddly similar to Ashalle's face when she would do something truly stupid as a child. "I suppose it could be possible, but that begs the question of what it means, then."

"More and more, I think the plan Elena had is a good idea," Azalia was saying. "We're a large group. After we get Andraste's Ashes, we split. Half will go with her and Alistair to Orzammar and the other half goes to find the Dalish with Lyna and I. After that, we meet back at Redcliffe. By then, Arl Eamon will hopefully be awake and in good health so we can form a plan to end this ridiculous resistance with the nobles and focus on the _real_ threat."

"Told you it was a good idea," Elena huffed.

"I never said it wasn't," Azalia grumbled, crossing her arms. "I was only saying it might be risky, cutting our manpower in half as it would. However, it seems we have little choice. Haven is about a day's walk south of Orzammar and we'd have to pass through Redcliffe to get to the Brecillian Forest anyway."

Lyna tuned them out as they decided who went where. She knew, logically, that the poisoned shem lord would need the ashes first. Rational thought escaped her whenever she thought of her clan in danger; to think of Fenarel and Tamlen in trouble…no force on earth would stop her. While she understood, she didn't like it – detested it – and could only hope the mage would make this quick. This mage, this flat-ear who saved her life and Tamlen's, who'd saved her own 'family' of sorts despite knowing it would anger the shems and their chantry.

Azalia met her eyes – the same brilliant elven blue of Tamlen's but on pale skin and covered by hair as dark as the night sky – and nodded once.

Yes, she would hurry. Yes, she understood protecting those you loved beyond all reason. Had she not done that in Redcliffe?

Lyna breathed a sigh, slumping against the trunk of the tree she'd been perched in. She could only hope they could wait for her a little longer.

Just a little longer.

**

* * *

A/N: And so ends chapter eleven. I admit, I'm using this story as a warm up of sorts for NaNoWriMo, so I apologize for any jumps in flow that you might come across. I hope to go back and fill in the gaps after completion. It's an exercise in NOT micro-managing and it's KILLING me! Lol.**

**Next is Haven and that pesky High Dragon. That should be fun, yes? And I finally got to write a little Cousland/Alistair moment. It's actually pretty difficult to get those two together for a moment, damn it. As for Zevran and Azalia, their "moments" won't come until later, though she'll at least get to have fun in the mean time. Only Lyna gets to be sexually frustrated with no outlet except slicing darkspawn to pieces for the meantime. (Poor girl…er…woman. She IS 36, or so I stated in an earlier chapter.)**

**As always, feedback would be appreciated.**

**~SRD**


	13. Of Ashes and Roses

**Chapter Twelve**

_Of Ashes and Roses_

* * *

"Well this is just charming."

Azalia's skin prickled as she stared at the altar, the blood drenching the blessed wood and making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Glancing at Morrigan, the witch nodded, confirming her thoughts. Blood rituals. They were perhaps the only thing _worse_ then Blood magic; some might even say they made blood magic look like a minor offense in comparison. Azalia knew only a little on the rituals themselves and what they were used for; mostly for worship of one's god. Some particularly amusing stories claimed the Dalish did a form of blood rituals, but after seeing some of the stuff Lyna did it was a far cry from this sort of thing.

_At least two bodies,_ she estimated, eying the sheer amount of blood. If the faint traces of power radiating from the fresh liquid wasn't a hint that it was human, the smell of it was. Human blood was sharper smelling then elven blood – saltier. Only elven senses seemed able of picking out the difference, though it mattered little in the grand scheme of things.

"Tis' a curious thing," Morrigan noted, circling the unholy altar once before scoffing. "Such rituals are meant to worship ones god; not summon power."

"The rituals could've summoned a demon of some kind because of the amount of blood spilled." It wasn't very surprising if that was the case. Mentally, Azalia wished she'd paid more attention to Amell in the tower. He'd had an unholy obsession with demons and the Fade – often to the point of worrying Gregoir and Irving that he would go maleficar on them all. Things like this had been right up his alley and were the only reason she was aware that such rituals existed in the first place. "Any rituals attract them like a beacon, but rituals involving blood almost always summon at least one."

"You know your demonology," Morrigan mused, impressed.

"A fellow apprentice in the tower did," she mused, shrugging. "It was his idea of pillow talk."

Zevran's eyebrow arched. "Is this sort of thing usual for mages?"

Lyna shook her head, but otherwise ignored them in favor of watching out the window for trouble. The others had gone ahead to trade with the town's merchant, but the powerful vibes emanating from the house they were in had made Azalia pause and tell them to go ahead. "I told you this place was creepy."

"I never doubted that," she reminded her, shaking her head. "It just doesn't matter. This is our only lead to those stupid ashes."

"Did it not occur to you to ask your charming mage-friend _what_ poison he used?"

Her eyebrow twitched. "Gee, I wonder why I didn't think of that. Of _course_ I asked him! Unfortunately, Jowan didn't know. Howe gave him the poison and he just did what they asked of him. Even more unfortunate for us is that poisons are about the only thing Howe was ever _good_ for. Bastard knows poisons like I know my magic. I couldn't figure out what he used to make it from what little Jowan had left of it aside from it having toxin extract." As did hundreds of other poisons, meaning she'd been able to learn nothing at all of it.

"Then why did he not poison the teyrn and his people in the first place?" Lyna wondered, frowning. "Such mastery would make it easy to kill them, no?"

Azalia shook her head. "No. My father was his anti-thesis; a master of herbalism and most specifically with poison antidotes. There isn't one in creation he couldn't counter within three days because he could sniff out every ingredient with his nose that was incredibly sensitive to smells." Thinking of her father made Azalia sigh and her mind inevitably wondered if he was even alive. She could inquire if a man of his description had been seen by the Dalish, perhaps. It wasn't out of the realm of possibilities that he may have sought out a Dalish clan to rejoin their fold. If not, with two children and her mother, presuming they all lived, he may have also taken refuge beneath the forest's protective boughs to stay hidden from all eyes in general. Neither was outside the realm of possibilities, considering what she remembered of the man. "Teyrn Cousland valued that ability above all else – even above his steadfast loyalty to him, which was no small accomplishment. He didn't give his loyalty easily."

Lyna nodded absently and something about the way she shifted made Azalia walk over and look out the window beside her. A sigh escaped from her lips before she could stop it, her staff in hand while she could hear Morrigan and Zevran follow her lead shortly after. Angry humans carrying weapons and geared for battle as they marched towards their location never meant anything good.

The trouble was about to begin.

* * *

As a young adult and a noble of some stature, Elena prided herself on being…intelligent. Smart, even. She'd been groomed alongside Fergus in matters of politics, though she'd always known Fergus was more likely to inherit the teyrnir. This was fine, of course. Her goals were elsewhere. Given enough time, she knew for certain her mother had been pushing for a Cousland-Guerrin connection. Eleanor Cousland didn't covet power in the way of Loghain, but she knew the best when she saw it. Seeing that Teagan would make any noble's daughter a fine husband wasn't hard at all. The trick was getting _him_ interested, and on all accounts he seemed at least intrigued enough by her to have humored her mother. But Teagan was…Teagan. He was just like that with everyone.

Elena knew her faults as well…better then anyone, probably. She was a late sleeper and could be horribly nosy – a side product of nobility, unfortunately. Once she smelled a secret, the noble in her _had_ to uncover it. This was not necessarily a bad thing, if used with caution and prudence, as her father had taught her. It was a skill to be utilized with _discretion_.

Above all this, however, Elena _knew_ she was smart. She was intelligent and had earned the total loyalty of Highever's militia with her thorough mind and amiable nature. She prided herself on being smarter then the average bubble-headed noble, as well as being just as much of a fighter as she was a politician. It made her invaluable to anyone who would seek to have her hand.

At the moment, however, Elena didn't feel so smart. To be completely honest, she felt slack-jawed stupid.

Quietly, their group huddled behind a broken wall, as recovered from their fight through the town and the mountain ruins Brother Genitivi had brought them to as was possible. Against an army of crazy cultists and other assorted pains in their asses, they'd finally made it to the mountain top. None of them had expected Haven to be a simple walk in the park after the trap that had been laid in Denerim, but this current problem went far beyond anything Elena's mind could've possibly foreseen. For the first time in her life, she felt unnerved by the revelation that she had _no idea_ about what to do.

"It's a High Dragon." Azalia was repeating this for the hundredth time since they'd exited out of the ruins, eyeing where said dragon was perched on the high cliffs, seemingly asleep. Her eyes were wide and even Lyna was stunned out of her agitated state of melancholy, obviously wondering about what could be done. This was no easy target to take down, and while they might be able to sneak around it, in theory, Elena didn't like the idea of just leaving it at their backs while they made their way forward.

"Tis' a most magnificent creature, is it not?" Of them all, Morrigan – and maybe Sten, who didn't seem to show much by way of an opinion either way – was the only one not stunned into utter stillness. "Twould also suggest the remains of this crazy woman might be nearby."

"Blessed Andraste," Leliana breathed with a hand over her mouth that was open and seemingly incapable of shutting.

"It's so…big." It wasn't the most insightful observation ever, but Elena couldn't blame Alistair for that. She doubted she was capable of making any insight better then that herself at present. "Very big and very, very upset if we disturb it, right?"

Even Zevran, who'd struck her as being a fairly difficult person to truly rattle, eyed the dragon with no small amount of caution. "We're not…planning on actually fighting it, are we? Couldn't we just…sneak around it?"

"Unwise," Lyna finally spoke up. "You do not leave something like that alive and at your back unless you wish a claw imbedded in it."

"Should I be concerned that you sound kind of excited about the prospect of fighting an honest to goodness high dragon?" Azalia asked the elf, not looking nearly as happy about the prospect. Quite honestly, Elena wasn't either.

Lyna shrugged, her worry temporarily shelved. "I have never fought a dragon before," she said simply, as if it should be obvious. "To test my skills against such a creature would be a rare opportunity."

"What do you think, Elena?" Azalia asked. "Much as I am wary, I tend to agree with Lyna on this. I rather like not having a claw embedded in my back."

How did one even go about plotting a plan to attack such a creature? Elena was at a loss, really. Their weapons were too tiny to actually inflict much damage and, according to Wynne who was just coming out of her stunned stupor, they were notoriously resistant to magic.

_Think, Elena._ While Azalia and Alistair were technically in charge of their group, both Wardens seemed inclined on looking to her for the tactical plans, and it was flattering most of the time. At the moment, however, she wished it was someone else.

Taking a deep breath, Elena forced herself to look at the skills they had on hand. They had four rogues, two of which were excellent archers, though Lyna was also quite proficient with her sword and dagger. Elena, like Zevran, preferred the dual weapon approach. They had three warriors (which included Lethallin), giving the party access to the two-handed weapon of Sten and Alistair's shield and sword techniques. Almost immediately, her mind placed him in the back with the mages who would need some measure of physical protection – specifically Wynne who was their only advanced healer. Azalia, she suspected, would put the sword she'd acquired from one of the cultists they'd killed to good use. It was ancient and obviously made for a mage's touch, seeing as magic was somehow required to wield it. She would be in the thick of it – their offensive mage – and Morrigan would likely be at the back with Wynne, debilitating and freezing as much as she could.

"We fight," she sighed, and she didn't miss the look Alistair shot her that suggested she might just be insane. "Here's how it'll go…" _And Maker help us all._

* * *

Three months.

In the three months she'd been traveling with them, Lyna had heard many things. So when she heard a very nasty cracking sound as her head smashed against the walls of the nearby ruins, she knew it couldn't be good. The blurring vision was also something of a hint.

"I hate dragons," she muttered as Wynne rushed over, the tingling of magic at her head healing whatever nasty damage it had done. Considering her head felt like it was splitting open, Lyna presumed it was sizeable. "Nasty like those ogres. Horrible, wretched creatures."

"Is that so?" Her voice sounded vaguely amused, silently indulging her ramblings and making Lyna yearn for Ashalle, her mother in all the ways that mattered. Distantly, the High Dragon roared its fury, obviously getting no closer to falling then it had been _before_ when she could see straight.

"Stupid Tamlen," she breathed. Her eyes felt heavy, but that wasn't good. Dalish hunters did _not_ fall asleep in the middle of battle! "Why does he never see?" she demanded of the mage, as if the older woman could tell her – to impart some of the wisdom her age had afforded her. "He never _sees_; never _asks._"

"They never do," Wynne was chuckling. "Human or elven, there is no difference in that." After a moment's pause, she continued on saying, "I had one such man myself."

Lyna nodded vaguely. This made sense, seeing as she would've been young once.

"He was so very handsome," Wynne was saying, her hand gently touching her skull that tingled even more as she applied her magic. "All he had to do was smile and I would've run to him – I was a very passionate young woman once, you see." She chuckled then, as if reliving a fond memory. "We were always together and, for a time, his attention did turn my way."

She nodded vaguely, happy when she noticed her vision righting itself. "He favored you."

"Yes. Some might say he still does." With one last wave of magic, Wynne righted herself, and Lyna was glad to see her headache was gone. She was a little dizzy though, but that was better then it previously was. "They don't ask because they can't, sometimes," she said sagely, "but they _see_. They _always_ see. They just can't tell you, dear, for whatever reason."

Wynne was off then, running to deal with another injury, and Lyna dove right back in, running along the dragon's tail and up to its back when she got the chance and shoving her delirious thoughts for a better time. The Antivan was already doing the same as what she was attempting; one dagger plunged into the dragon's back so he couldn't be easily thrown while the other stabbed between its tough scales. Distantly, she could see the blur that was Elena weaving through the dragon's legs, slowly chipping away at skin between scales and delivering blow on top of blow to some degree of success. Azalia seemed to have abandoned the mage sword for the moment and was using her staff again, her magic aiming for the eyes that had arrows embedded in them from her and the bard who was continuing to shoot arrows blazing with fire at any open wounds she could see.

It was long, tedious hacking and slicing that didn't seem to actually show signs of weakening it at all. Lyna felt it, however, when the dragon tilted, one of its legs buckling beneath it while it roared, distracted. She and the Antivan dove off its back at the same time she watched the qunari embed its blade into the dragon's neck, the dragon tossing him airborne but giving him enough momentum so that the large greatsword he wielded crashed down and sank straight through, severing the neck down to the bone and spraying blood everywhere. Though it flailed wildly for a few moments and tossed the qunari from it and into the snow with an explosion of white, the dragon eventually stilled, eyes glassing over in obvious death.

As one, the entire party – aside from Wynne who got to work checking them all – fell back onto the ground and sighed.

"You had to wake the sleeping dragon," Alistair groaned, holding his arm that seemed to be bent in a way it shouldn't have been. "You _do_ seek out trouble, don't you? Admit it!"

"Shut up," Azalia groaned, and her hand was glowing blue with magic, running her hands over the injuries she'd gotten while trying to wield that sword. Obviously she lacked the necessary spells for it, but she insisted on keeping it regardless, it seemed, considering she set it in place behind her alongside the staff once she got to her feet. If it didn't require magic, Lyna had to admit she'd have probably taken it herself. It was a very beautifully done blade and elven crafted, judging by the design of it, out of brilliant silverite. "Just for that I'll heal you _last!"_

"Hey!"

"Glad to see you two getting along," Elena groaned from her prone position in the snow, "but kindly shut up. My head is _pounding."_

Lyna stayed silent mostly, salvaging a good deal from the dragon's corpse with the Antivan who was the only one other then her to escape with little more then a lot of bruises. Somehow, she doubted anyone would want to know that, though tired, she was actually rather happy…giddy, even

_I helped slay a high dragon. _A smirk flitted across her lips. _The hunters back home will be green in envy._ It was a cheering thought…especially when she imagined Tamlen's expression. It _almost_ made this whole thing worth it.

_Almost._

* * *

"I thought it would be more…impressive," Azalia noted, staring at the urn with a blink. The Gauntlet they'd gone through had been simple in comparison to the rest of the ruins, thankfully. Azalia doubted her nerves could take much more by way of distractions and setbacks. She was relieved as she took some of the ashes and shoved them into a pouch, but other then that she didn't feel any particular sense of amazement. Though she'd been taught both the elven religion _and_ that of Andraste, Azalia had never considered herself a believer of either. Staring at the ashes, she could feel power in them, but she wouldn't be surprised if it was the effects of some spell. The Imperium's chantry believed Andraste had likely been an extraordinarily powerful mage and privately, Azalia agreed it to probably be so. _Some_ type of magic was at work, radiating from the urn as it was, though it was nothing she'd ever felt before.

Considering the looks on Leliana and Alistair's faces, however, she refrained from saying so.

"They're real…" Even Elena looked pretty amazed. She shook off her amazed stupor quickly, however, looking at her. "We should go to Redcliffe. We can probably afford to heal up a night there before splitting up."

"Sounds like a plan." She was eager to leave, honestly, and they rejoined the rest who'd opted to wait out on the mountain top for them. Ashes securely tucked away, they headed out and gathered up Brother Genitivi again who was _thrilled_ that the ashes had been found.

No doubt the chantry would swarm the mountainside by year's end.

They bade Brother Genitivi farewell not long after leaving Haven, veering off towards Redcliffe while he continued northward for Denerim after telling them to visit him again whenever they came to the city next. They would arrive at Redcliffe just before nightfall, thankfully, and Azalia had images of a nice and proper hot meal floating in her head. Maybe a warm bath…

The sun had just fallen when Redcliffe came into sight and the guard in the rebuilt watchtower shouted, "The Wardens are here!" effectively announcing their arrival. Villagers rushed out to greet them, hopeful of their success, and even Bann Teagan looked like a hopeful puppy when he met them outside the castle's door and atop its front steps.

"Thank the Maker," he breathed as she held them up for him. "Come. We must go to Eamon at once."

Alistair, Elena, and Leliana accompanied her upstairs; the others departed for food or a warm bath that Teagan immediately had the servants prepare for them. If anyone else found it rather disturbing that she essentially had to dump the ash remains of a woman down the arl's throat, no one mentioned it. To be honest, Azalia was surprised it even worked as she watched Arl Eamon's eyes open slowly, his voice raspy from disuse but otherwise looking relatively fine for someone who'd been poisoned. While the arlessa was far from her favorite person, Azalia was glad to see the woman seemed quite happy that he was awake again, her hand holding his as he asked about his son and everything that had been happening.

"There is a lot to tell," Elena was saying to him, smiling slightly. "It is good to see you well and up now, Arl Eamon."

"Bryce's youngest, right?" He winced, rubbing his head. "Forgive me for my addled state, my dear. How are your mother and father? Are they well?"

Azalia froze and she stared at Elena who was looking at Bann Teagan in something like horrified realization. _Wonderful. He doesn't even know about the 'Highever Massacre'._ "We should leave," she whispered to Leliana, and the bard nodded, obviously concerned by Elena's sudden change in mood but understanding why. They excused themselves, citing wariness from their traveling, but Azalia doubted anyone was paying much attention at that moment. Once they were far enough away, she tugged the bard into a relatively private corner of the castle and asked her bluntly, "So what's wrong?"

Leliana gave her a blinking doe-eyed look that Azalia didn't believe for a moment. "What do you mean? Everything is fine."

"You've been tense since you came back from Denerim," she pointed out, giving Leliana her best _'don't mess with me right now'_ stare. She was tired, hungry, and filthy as hell which all equated to one unhappy elf until at least two of those problems could be remedied. "Elena hasn't been able to ask, so I am since she's got other things on her mind right now."

Her wide blue eyes narrowed slightly before Leliana sighed. "Zevran spoke of it to you, didn't he?"

Azalia didn't bother denying it. "He's unusually chatty after sex," was all she said. "In his defense, he was pretty contrite with himself once it slipped out. Why didn't you tell us assassins came after you?" When she didn't say anything and just looked guiltily off to the side, Azalia sighed and touched her arm in a gesture of friendly support. "Will you tell me what happened? If we can, we'll deal with whatever it is, but I'd rather not go in blind. We're doing that too much as it is."

"You're right, of course." She still looked nervous about speaking of it, however.

"You're a friend, Leliana," Azalia said, somewhat surprised to realize she did indeed think of the bard as such. "I know we don't talk as much as you and Elena do, but it's true none the less. I guess…part of me is still very much a servant in that I want to make sure she's happy – _especially_ now. I know you've been keeping her mind relatively occupied while we're at camp and I'm grateful."

"Thank you." Leliana beamed, then, obviously thrilled. "That means a lot to hear you say that, Azalia. And I suppose you are right. It would be awful if you got hurt because you didn't know." Even so, she wrung her hands nervously as she spoke. "It was in Orlais…my mentor. Her name was Marjolaine…"

* * *

Eamon wasn't happy to hear that Jowan was gone, but there was little to be done on that matter. Elena was grateful Teagan never said anything, either, though he _did_ meet her eyes in a look that said he was fairly sure he knew who it was that let them go. As it was, they were in agreement that a Landsmeet would have to be called to end the fighting once and for all, though they should gather their allies first before anything. The only matter they were trying to figure out now, at the moment, was Highever.

"I wish I could say I'm even surprised," Eamon sighed, shaking his head as he sat on his bed. He was still tired, so it seemed easier to simply talk here instead of going all the way to his study. Isolde had left to check on Connor, so it was only Teagan, Alistair, Eamon, and her discussing her family's teyrnir problem. "Howe was always…off, I suppose, but it's been said he got worse after White River. You're father knew this and always suspected it might end up like this, Elena. At the Landsmeet we will have you become the new Teyrna, unless Fergus should by some miracle still be alive. Bryce left papers to that effect with me in case such a thing should happen."

"That sounds like father," she murmured, and she felt Alistair's hand come up and squeeze hers, offering silent support that she gratefully accepted. It was still painful to think of her parents at all, but she could do so without crying now, which was progress. "While I'm…not so hopeful about the state of Highever's army, seeing as our knights were a particularly loyal bunch, I'm hoping our militia is still in workable order. Howe never thought much of militias – he thought them to be little more then peasants playing at being soldiers – but I trained them myself. They're as good as any of our knights were, ready for anything, and I'm hoping they will be relatively untouched in numbers."

"I'd heard." Eamon smiled kindly at her, patting her other hand gently. "Bryce was beaming about your success with them the last time we spoke. He was incredibly proud of you."

Elena nodded, saying nothing. There was little to say to that, really, without it ending with her weeping like a baby. She'd shed enough tears for her family; now was the time for her to stay strong and do them proud. "Thank you, Eamon," she said softly. "It means a lot to know that."

"Like I said as well; Rainesfere will always honor its allegiance with Highever," Teagan smiled.

"As will Redcliffe," Eamon added without question. "After all this…to think Loghain would go this far…I would never have thought him capable of this."

"Then let us hope we can gather our allies quickly," Elena put in, giving them both a smile, "and put an end to this civil war before the Blight swallows us whole before we can even pull out our blades."

They left Eamon to rest after that, Teagan retiring as well after asking her to pass his thanks onto Azalia once again, and Elena walked with Alistair a bit…silently, for the most part, though she had a feeling he wanted to speak with her about something. About Eamon's idea about his candidacy for the Fereldan throne, no doubt.

Now there was a surprise she hadn't seen coming. And Azalia knew, apparently!

_King Maric's son._ She could see the resemblance, now that she knew, and it vexed her that she'd never even considered it. It was somewhat of a horrible joke amongst nobles that at least one child in every noble Ferelden family had the infamous Theirin nose and an elf or two that, at some point, had likely caught the king's eye.

"So…should I be calling you Teyrna Cousland now?" Alistair joked half-heartedly.

"Should I call you King Alistair?"

"Maker's breathe, no!" He looked so horrified at the idea that Elena couldn't help laughing despite herself. "That's not funny!" he whined at her, pouting.

"Future kings shouldn't pout," she noted, grinning when Alistair groaned. "It makes them look less impressive."

"See? This is why I didn't tell anyone!" he huffed to no one in particular. "All the rules and expectations…people actually _expect_ me to have manners and look all shiny and neat! I might even have to take baths now."

"As opposed to the manners of one who was raised by wolves?" she mused out loud. When Alistair grinned, she returned the look and shook her head. "I'd rather have a king who was raised by wolves then a queen brought up by nobility I don't trust. For what it's worth, I think you'd make a good king. The best kings have been ones who were never actually pampered princes, you realize? Look at Maric."

"You say that _now…_" he drawled out, shaking his head. "Just you wait. You'll be regretting that if they really do put me on the throne." He shuddered just saying that, grimacing. "Ugh…just saying it gives me a headache."

Elena chuckled but didn't comment. "So what has been on your mind, Alistair? Don't think I haven't noticed. You've been fidgeting since we left Eamon's room."

"I…uh…" he fumbled, his hands behind his back like some shy little boy, and was that a blush? "Here. For you."

"A rose?" She touched one of the silky soft pink petals gently, smiling as she leaned down to smell it. "It's lovely. My mother used to have fresh ones in a vase that sat in the middle of our dinner table all the time. Where did you find it?"

"I picked it in Lothering. I remembered thinking…how could something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness? I probably should've left it alone, but I couldn't. The darkspawn would come and their taint would just destroy it. So I've had it ever since." He really _did_ flush a bit this time, though his voice was tinged with emotions Elena couldn't name. "I thought that I might…give it to you, actually. In a lot of ways, I think the same thing when I look at you."

"That's such a lovely thing to say, Alistair." Her face felt inexcusably warm as she looked down, unable to meet his gaze. "Thank you."

"I know the past few months have been difficult and filled with almost nothing but tragedy and despair, but…I thought maybe I could say something and tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find admist all this darkness."

Elena fiddled with the rose gently, biting her lip slightly as she fought not to smile outright. "And you say you can't talk like a noble…you flatter just like one. I'll treasure it always, Alistair. Thank you."

He smiled then, obviously pleased, and fiddled with his now empty hands. "I'm glad you like it. Now if we could move right on past this awkward, embarrassing stage and get right to the steamy bits I'd appreciate it." His words flowed together in the end as he rushed through them quickly, but she heard them anyway and giggled despite herself like some besotted noble girl.

_What are you talking about? You ARE a besotted noble girl!_ The thought wasn't nearly as annoying as she'd thought it would be, but pride demanded Elena not let it end with her all red-faced and running like she was half tempted to. For a chantry-raised boy, he had a way with words that put even experienced flatterers like Teagan to shame. With more bravado then she had, Elena leaned forward and whispered in his ear with an impish smirk, "Sounds good! Off with the armor then, Alistair." She made sure her breath blew gently into his ear, satisfied when he jumped back and was nearly as red-faced as she was, laughing nervously.

"Hahaha…drat. Bluff called." To himself, he said, "Damn, she saw right through me."

She leaned in and kissed his cheek, forcing herself _not_ to hide behind her hand as he sputtered in shock and looked ready to faint. _He's adorable._ "Don't mess with fire unless you want to get burned, boy," she chuckled. When he just sputtered more, at a loss for words, she said simply, "Good night, Alistair. We've a long journey ahead of us tomorrow."

"Right…journey. Dwarves. Orzammar…right. Just…Night." He stuttered and nodded rapidly, actually tripping on the rug in the hall as he began retreating. "I'll be in my room…heh…huddling in a corner just until my blushing stops…just to be safe. You know how it is."

She waited until he was around the corner and heard the sound of a door shutting before squatting down in the middle of the hallway, her face warmer then the sun and the rose still clasped gently in her hand. _Dangerous. Very, very dangerous._

"A rose, huh?" She didn't have to turn around to know Azalia was there. She didn't need to see the wide grin on her face to know she'd heard the entire thing.

"It's _lovely_," Leliana gushed, and Elena mentally groaned. _Dear Maker, she heard it too?_ Leliana would be accompanying Lyna and Azalia alongside Zevran and Sten to the Dalish at least, but it was embarrassing never the less. She would _never_ let this go.

They were never going to let her get any sleep tonight.

_**

* * *

A/N: Finally, a proper Alistair/Cousland moment! We will be following Elena and Alistair to Orzammar first, so you know what that means! Oghren is coming! Yay! I love Oghren. After that we will set off east and finally see Tamlen and Fenarel who are indeed up to their eyeballs in trouble. Alistair's rose speech is almost word for word, barring some changes to compensate for the change in place (Redcliffe Castle rather then at camp). As a side note, the next chapter might take a little longer to come out. I've been sick lately, so I haven't written ahead quite as much as normal. Never fear, however. It shouldn't take longer then a week. (I hope...)  
**_

_**Like it or hate it, let me know!**_

_**~SRD**_


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